He sent me a link to the film, and I proceeded to watch all 139 minutes of it without moving. An inch. No food, no water...all of my limbs fell asleep. This movie had me hypnotized.
I speak, of course, of On The Road, the film adaptation of the famous novel of the same name by Jack Kerouac.
The film was an almost painfully raw depiction of what we as humans love and desire most, whether those things be beneficial or detrimental to us. Whether it is having a house and a baby or writing one great poem by age 23, there is a deeper desire within all of us that drives all of our actions and ultimately makes or breaks us. There is no getting away from it, no matter how many drugs we take or how many miles we drive.
A girl searches for love, loyalty, and respectability, hoping to find it with a man that lets her down over and over again;
That man searches for the thrill, for glory, looking to assign value to himself by winning the affection of others;
His friends follow him blindly and ponder in the shadows of his conquests;
One goes on to become a great novelist, another a great poet.
From the observation of desire and insanity and recklessness and lust come the great artists, the great translators of the churning of our insides, the ones that help us to realize what we are and why we are.
These men and women--LuAnne Henderson, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Neal Cassady, and many others who wove in and out of their lives--lived, it seems, without boundaries. At least at first.
The one who never secured them was Neal Cassady, known in On The Road as the character Dean Moriarty, an infamous icon of the Beat era in the 50's.
He was the inspiration for the main character in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest; two books by Hunter S. Thompson; songs by the Grateful Dead, Doobie Brothers, King Crimson, and many others; numerous poems; books by his wives; half a dozen movies; and of course, On The Road.
I wrote to T: sometimes I think my life should be that interesting, and then I remember I don't want to end up dead on train tracks in Mexico at age 40.
The predicaments of the characters in this film made them more than characters to me, more than historical figures. Within each and every one of them I saw an aspect of myself, as a writer, a woman, and a lover, and I saw aspects of others around me. We are only human; we desire and desire and it leaves us both stagnant and racing through life.
It presented no clear problem and no clear solution, only the nature of our modern existence, stripped bare.
New favorite film, without a doubt. Watch it. Also read Howl by Allen Ginsberg (and everything else).
Oh, and happy Spring :) It's official!
xoxo
Maralah
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