April 12, 2009

I first saw the motion picture Atonement on an airplane, two vodkas in, flying above the country. It gripped me. I cried on the flight, alone.

I watched it again last night and in the space I currently reside, a place of hopeful happiness and sadness over a closed chapter, the film was even more influential.

It is a beautiful film too. Costumes and sets are colorful, clear, detailed. There is a scene on a French beach in which there are no cuts and the scene moves along, weaving in and out, with color and actors and noises and horses and it is like poetry. It flows and moves and changes and returns and it is beautiful.

The use of sound is also amazing. Water splashes in a fountain in one scene and connects to the next when water splashes in a bath tub. Clicking typewriter keys turn into footsteps. It has a rhythm.

It is a song lover's film. It is a poet's film. It is a visual artist's film. For it embodies those arts.

And it is gut wrenching. Never before have I seen two actors on film appear to be so in love. You see the fight in their eyes. You see it when they realize it and when they say it the first time. I love you. It is also devastating. It rips at your stomach at the end.

Life and love can be sad and difficult and sometimes, hopefully only sometimes, unbearable. But there is a light. It never goes out. It burns bright and flickers low. But it is always there. When you're alone or in the arms of someone. It is there.

And truth is powerful. And I realize this more than ever. The power and importance and wonder and freedom of honesty. I will, going forward, never, ever abandon that. For myself. For my friends. For my lovers.

"Write it all down. Just the truth. No rhymes, no embellishments, no adjectives."

Yes, sir.