I think Jorie Graham described Stephen Berg's prose poems as "beautiful, beautiful poetry" or something like that.
Well, I think (I'm a sucker for a well-made tearjerker) Seven Pounds is a beautiful, beautiful movie and I'd like to buy it so I can just enjoy it rather than spend so much of the time trying to figure things out. And without some of the skepticism I am naturally inclined to and for which the seeds herein (Seven Pounds) were sown.
But I'm cool with all that for the first time round. I think I watched the movie pretty much as its makers wanted me to.
Again, it's beautifully made. Especially the last ten or so minutes when you know exactly what's going on. The music and the visuals are wonderful and manipulative, wonderfully manipulative (break out the violins, boys, break them out!) and I was fighting back, without complete success, tears.
In the car on the way home I remembered how afraid my brother was before his bone marrow transfusions (except for the first one) and that made me cry some, quietly, leaning towards the window.
And then I thought of the guy on Goodreads who asked me "why bleak? what does bleak do for you?" (or something like that) in response to a note a posted about Weldon Kees.
I think I explained about Kees. Whatever.
Fuck it. Just fuck it.
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2 comments:
Hey Rauan,
I recently argued with someone about this film, because they thought it was horrendous and I, usually one who enters a film averse to the way the directors want me to enter it, succumbed to this gem and left quite honestly raw-struck and deep in my own questions about selfishness, altruism, and all that other moral spit.
I enjoyed the recent poems up at Action Yes and elsewhere, as I have followed all links.
Good to meet you at AWP. All the best, Flynn.
Good to meet you too, Flynn,... and nice to hear that others enjoyed/appreciated Seven Pounds also....
best, Rauan
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