the movies we watch

Movies on AMC and TCM are the movies my mother will watch. Well, sort of “watch.” I’m never sure if she’s really paying attention; I think the movie becomes background noise for her ruminations.
We watched Gold Diggers of 1933 yesterday — or at least I did. Mom wandered off sometime before the end and took a nap. I couldn’t help think to myself that things haven’t changed all that much. Near the end is a production number (Busby Berkely certainly knew how to stage them) centered around a song “Remember My Forgotten Man,” who was the soldier returning home from war, the farmer losing his land to a national depression. He was broke, defeated, jobless, alone. There were a lot of them then, and there are a lot of them now. Sung by Joan Blondell, it’s a very UN-feminist song, but it did reflect the truth of many women back then.
The other night we watched The Emerald Forest. I thought my mom would object to the nudity; the fact that she didn’t makes me think she wasn’t really watching it. I loved the lushness — of the forest, of the people, of the myths. I guess that’s why I can stand living in the situation I’m in: I live in the middle of natural lushness. Even though my vegetable garden has succumbed to various critters, my flowers are abundantly blooming. The sky is curtained with trees, and birds of every color flock to our feeders.(Even though I bought a book to help me identify the birds, I’ve decided not to bother. It’s enough to watch them up close) One feeder, outside our window, puts me close enough to look into their eyes. As long as I don’t move, they don’t notice me through the glass.
Al Gore’s movie about global warming is not playing at the movie theater in town. I guess I’ll have to buy that one:

It’s difficult to get a man to understand something when his job depends on his not understanding it.
— Upton Sinclair

I have mentioned before that I’ve been a science fiction fan since high school, and so much of what I have read eventually comes to pass. I wouldn’t be be surprised if, in another generation, we are living in a “Blade Runner” world. I won’t be around, but, unless some drastic action is taken, it’s the world my grandson will inherit.


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