Sunny, Saturday, screened porch.
My aunt, my childhood friend Grace and I were surrounded by papers and notebooks and pens with the Georgetown Reservoir in the background and almond butter and celery sitting on the table.
It was a reunion — albeit a small one — and the first time the three of us had been together in 15 years. Grace and I had been friends since before we could talk, but we hadn’t seen each other since.
Thinking back, I found it was hard to believe how similar we had become and how much like my aunt we are now, even after growing up apart. All three of us were singers, actors and writers. We spent the afternoon sitting out on that little back porch in the nation’s capital, saying a final goodbye before college came and summer left.
Before we knew it, we were talking about movies. Grace — the self-proclaimed movie-lover — was the one to broach the subject.
“There’s a travesty of cinema, though,” she said. “You watch all these great stories unfold, but they always forget to add in the little things, so where are they? Where is the filler of life?”
We go to the movies for all sorts of reasons — to vicariously live through others, to remember old romances, to laugh until we cry, to learn something new or to spend time with friends. Regardless of the reason we end up at the theater, movies take us to a different place and time.
People will tell you in love and in life that “reality is not like the movies.” But that’s not exactly true — it’s the movies which aren’t like reality.
Ninety minutes can only give you a snapshot of an entire life, and Hollywood packs as much punch into that time frame as it possibly can. But in reality, the experiences and knowledge which make life meaningful take time to cultivate. Movies skip over all that — and, in the process, they neglect to record anything of substance. Sure, they tell compelling stories, but they miss out on honesty.
After years of dreaming my life would be more like the movies, I think I’ve finally come to terms with “the travesty of cinema” and have learned to appreciate the “filler of life” — all the minute trials and tribulations which make life dynamic.
As comforting as this sentiment may be initially, it opens a whole new can of worms — the “travesty of reality.”
Before even arriving at the University, you’re warned of the fierce competition.
“You want to be a UGuide? That’s so exciting, but my God, is it competitive!”
“That’s so impressive that you’re trying out for club lacrosse! I heard they made a hundred cuts last year.”
“You sing? I love all the acapella groups here. But they’re so hard to get into — my roommate is such a good singer, and she didn’t even get a callback.”
Of course, there’s something undoubtedly attractive about going to a school where everything is obviously A-List. But when everyone around you seems to be living a life straight out of a silver-screen script, where does that put you and your abundance of “filler?”
This is a dilemma I probably would have spent some more time struggling with had I not ever read Robert Penn Warren’s “All the King’s Men.” At some point in the novel, amid a backdrop of political fraud and social unrest, the narrator simply states, “Whatever you live is life.” It’s so simple, but so true.
So, then, maybe real life can resemble reel life in certain ways — maybe life is somewhat like movies. There are leads and there are secondary characters; there’s the golden girl and there’s the stereotypical, perpetually single best friend; the Boy Who Lived and Neville Longbottom.
But just because one story isn’t front and center for however long the camera’s rolling doesn’t mean that it’s not worth being told. Just because you may not be living a picture-perfect life doesn’t make it any less life-like. Some people spend more time with “the filler,” and some with made-for-movie moments. But neither is anything to condemn.
In skipping over everyday trials, movies forget about what is often the most rewarding part of life — the challenges from which we derive our strength. When you come to terms with the “travesty of cinema,” you come to appreciate all the small pieces that make you who you are, all the simple moments that would be left out, should your life be compressed into a two-hour biopic.
And then, the next step is figuring out that the second issue — “the travesty of reality” — really isn’t a travesty at all. Day in and day out, the little things in life trump the fabulousness of film. Why? Because they actually happened.
Mary’s column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at m.long@cavalierdaily.com.
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