Am thinking about forgiveness this morning, which is not normal. It's not something I give much thought to, honestly - not on a daily basis. It was always Jason's thing, which is strange enough in itself. One of his favorite books was Ian McEwan's Atonement, which thrilled him because it let him spend hundreds of pages watching people suffer and grapple with questions of forgiveness. He said that the process made it all feel real in the end, and earned. I'm sure it's a fantastic book, but have no interest in it, based upon that pitch. Fiction makes it easy - or easier, anyway - to forgive. For me, that's always been one of fiction's most alluring features - it allows us to practice all of those untidy emotional processes, which proceed much more quickly when no real consequences are present. We can forgive Roy Cohn, say, or James Tyrone, or Caliban, when they're only players onstage, and perhaps that exercise prepares us for the real thing, offers us a view of the process, imbues us with the memory of that relief. Or perhaps it leaves us just as unready - how am I to know?
In any case, it's the real thing I'm thinking about this morning, having just watched Shakespeare Behind Bars. It's a documentary focusing upon a group of prison inmates putting on a production of The Tempest, and it's heartening to watch, but also very hard to sit through, in points. The actors are serving time for armed robbery, for killing their wives, for sexually abusing young girls, and they recount their crimes on camera, oftentimes crying, always regretful, but the methodic way in which they recite the facts still seems startling. The connections they forge with the characters they play are startling - my favorite player is Red, who gets stuck playing the fifteen-year old Miranda, but ends up identifying so exactly with her lack of one parent, and the mythology that comes to surround that absence. They're all so serious about their roles, so reflective, and so set on self-forgiveness, and willing to endure the long process. Some of these men are serving sentences of fifty years, and have grown up in the Kentucky prison system. Several are up for parole very soon, while some are barely able to stay with the production because of bad behavior. Allowed a glimpse past their worst deeds, it's so easy to fall right into this film, to find oneself hoping for the best for these men, who make surprisingly adept actors.
This isn't film review hour, clearly - I'd hardly be qualified for such a thing, as I watched Shakespeare Behind Bars just after seeing Knocked Up with my brothers, and clearly have questionable taste. It's just been on my mind, lately, and I've got no way to articulate it in any personal way, for now. Except, of course, to acknowledge that I am so far from forgiving myself, and so I hope that all of my cultural consumption can help move the process along, because this is exhausting. All these nightmares can really wear a girl down with reminders of all the ways in which she's gone wrong. Luckily, I've got marathon phonecalls with Jana, upcoming adventures with Young Steven, and a dream-come-true job housesitting for a favorite professor to tide me over, in the meantime, and the occasional shocking reminder that I haven't lost all that I'd assumed. Plus, you know, I've got David Gray playing and my favorite flavor of ice cream in the freezer, and Golden Girls on DVD, for when it all gets too heavy, and the knowledge that this will be enough, for now, if only because it has to be.
In any case, it's the real thing I'm thinking about this morning, having just watched Shakespeare Behind Bars. It's a documentary focusing upon a group of prison inmates putting on a production of The Tempest, and it's heartening to watch, but also very hard to sit through, in points. The actors are serving time for armed robbery, for killing their wives, for sexually abusing young girls, and they recount their crimes on camera, oftentimes crying, always regretful, but the methodic way in which they recite the facts still seems startling. The connections they forge with the characters they play are startling - my favorite player is Red, who gets stuck playing the fifteen-year old Miranda, but ends up identifying so exactly with her lack of one parent, and the mythology that comes to surround that absence. They're all so serious about their roles, so reflective, and so set on self-forgiveness, and willing to endure the long process. Some of these men are serving sentences of fifty years, and have grown up in the Kentucky prison system. Several are up for parole very soon, while some are barely able to stay with the production because of bad behavior. Allowed a glimpse past their worst deeds, it's so easy to fall right into this film, to find oneself hoping for the best for these men, who make surprisingly adept actors.This isn't film review hour, clearly - I'd hardly be qualified for such a thing, as I watched Shakespeare Behind Bars just after seeing Knocked Up with my brothers, and clearly have questionable taste. It's just been on my mind, lately, and I've got no way to articulate it in any personal way, for now. Except, of course, to acknowledge that I am so far from forgiving myself, and so I hope that all of my cultural consumption can help move the process along, because this is exhausting. All these nightmares can really wear a girl down with reminders of all the ways in which she's gone wrong. Luckily, I've got marathon phonecalls with Jana, upcoming adventures with Young Steven, and a dream-come-true job housesitting for a favorite professor to tide me over, in the meantime, and the occasional shocking reminder that I haven't lost all that I'd assumed. Plus, you know, I've got David Gray playing and my favorite flavor of ice cream in the freezer, and Golden Girls on DVD, for when it all gets too heavy, and the knowledge that this will be enough, for now, if only because it has to be.
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