Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts
By Alyce Wilson
Sometimes there's so much going through my head — so many little ideas, little amongst themselves, none of which lend themselves to full fleshing out.
For example, I watched the independent film Festival in Cannes. The film follows several people at the annual film festival.
There's a young actress who has just been in a breakout film, the rage of the festival, and begins to get attention from the press and producers. There is a respected actress who has a film she wants to direct, a personal film about a woman's journey towards self-fulfillment. And then there is the European film icon, sought after for two films, the actress' film and a big budget film with a small role.
Throughout this movie, these women negotiate film projects, as well as love. And each one of them comes to some sort of enlightenment, learns some sort of lesson about the nature of love, life and film.
It's a small film, but it's the kind of film that stays in your head, much like the song which ends the film, "Ma Vie En Rose." I found myself whistling that song while walking my dog, and wondering what struck me so much about this film and why I found such quiet power in it.
I think it's because I'm no longer in the category of the youngest actress: naive, overly trusting. I'm more like the two older actresses, who've had more experiences and can evaluate situations better but are also willing to take a chance. I'd like to believe I'm like that. It's a glorious revelation.
While it's not a film of deep emotions and Oscar-worthy moments, it is the sort of film that offers a powerful, if quiet, message.
Other things also crop up in my mind. For example, I found a wig the other morning.
I was walking my dog when I saw a wig with a tag still on it, lying in the street. The tag gave instructions on care for the wig and what to do if, for example, it's a Jericurl wig. I thought of keeping it, but then I thought: how does a wig end up in the street? Did a burst of wind come up? But they wouldn't have been wearing it with the tag on, unless they had a sort of Minnie Pearl thing going on.
Or did it fly out a car window as they were tooling down the road? Did they get mad at this wig and toss it contemptuously in the road and decide to either shave their head or grow a 'fro? I was trying to understand what happened.
I couldn't make myself keep it, because I thought, maybe they're coming back for this wig. Maybe somebody right now is just realizing their wig is gone and is going to come back for it. So instead, I laid it in the grass by the side of the road.
It was still there when we walked by later. My dog sniffed it, perhaps thinking it was some sort of synthetic animal.
And at the very moment we were passing the wig, this second time, there was a very sad boy walking on the opposite side of the fence which divided the sidewalk from the schoolgrounds. He had just told somebody to leave him alone, and they were, he was alone.
He looked at me, and I said hi. Of course, he said nothing, because I'm a stranger. But part of me wanted to ask him what was wrong and to tell him no matter how bad it is now, chances are his life will be much better when he graduates someday, and he'll look back at these people and realize what buffoons they were.
But of course I couldn't say that, because he would have run away screaming at this strange lady trying to give him advice.
I guess that's where art comes in. Art is where you can tell people these things. They may listen to you and they may not, but it's a good way to tell them. You usually don't run into people on the street and say, "Have I got something to tell you." But if you create something that they can read or listen to or watch, then perhaps they will walk away with the message you want to get across.
<cue: "Ma Vie En Rose">
Dance
down the beach, kicking the waves. Whistling. As the credits roll.
Moral:
Take time to sniff the wigs.
Copyright
2003 by Alyce Wilson
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