Media Outlets

Went to see BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOUR DEAD last weekend, the first film I’ve seen in the theater in about six months (not counting my trip to the cinema in Ireland). While the work was excellent all around, be warned: it is a movie that makes you want to shower afterwards, in some attempt to wash away the despair and degradation you have just witnessed. Shower with a loofah. And some fully concentrated Dr. Bronner’s soap.

The Times review is apt in describing it as “a chronicle of destruction — physical, spiritual and moral” for it is a chronicle, not a lesson, an objective reveal, not a morality tale. It tells you the story and forces you to fill in the blanks, to find the “why”--the catalyst for the downfall. Which of course I tried desperately to do. “The American Dream gone wrong… a story about poison spreading through the family…” I kept trying to find the words to explain it away, because without a specific reason, without an explanation for the self-destruction, I have to accept that sometimes people just sink. Deeper and deeper and without an excuse. I also have to accept that this could happen to any of us.

If I don’t find a reason then I have to admit that anyone has the potential to totally fuck up their life and the lives of the people around them. Perhaps in lesser ways than these characters manage to do (I don’t really fear that I will some day find myself swathed in too much pink flesh lying on my back in a heroin den while a transvestite pumps drugs into my arm) but in our own small ways, in our own less cinema-worthy versions of self-destructiveness.

I don’t like thinking about that.

Other things I’m listening to and watching:

I did indeed make it to the silent film JEWISH LUCK, with an original score provided live by ONE RING ZERO. Such a cool event. Hanvnah encouraged us to sit down near the band so we had the opportunity to watch both the movie (which was a trip) and the band making their merry music. They had a wide range of instruments, some recognizable, others looking like strange 1950s sci-fi equipment (see the theremin, and others, here) plus the band members themselves were adorable—total Brooklyn-dorky-cute-hipster types. The movie was fascinating because it was filmed in the Soviet Union during a short window of time when people actually embraced cultural differences, including Jewish culture. Most of the film is set in Berdichev, a city that was alternately part of Poland, then the USSR, and now the Ukraine. At one point they travel to Odessa. The city where my father’s father’s family is apparently from is about an equal distance to the north, than Berdichev is from Odessa to the South. Bialystok has a similar identity crises: having been passed from Poland to Prussia to Russia and now back to Poland.

Anyway, my point is—there were times during the movie when my brain would go to the place where it would think, “Wow. Those actors really look like Russian jewish peasants. Missing teeth and all.” And then I’d have to remind myself, “Oh. Wait. They really are Russian Jewish peasants.” They looked a bit like the pictures I’ve seen of our extended family. Deep set eyes. Wide foreheads. Dark hair.

And really… sturdy.

I just finished Terrorism, by John Updike. It was our latest book club pick. More on that and my many recent lessons about Islam to come, as well as a “book-club-in-review” post: a breakdown of what I liked vs. what I could have passed 0n.

Stay tuned.