Sunday, January 30, 2005
Gray, snowy, cold
I wonder how high the body count will be today in Iraq? I don’t even want to put on the news. Hiding from it won’t change anything, and it’s my responsibility to know as much as I can and then decide what I can do.
Congratulations to Angela Ruggierio, who joined her brother on the ice with the Tulsa Oilers of the Central Hockey League. She is the first woman to play a pro hockey game not as a goalie. May this be the beginning of much more mixed hockey.
My body’s sore from all the hours at the desk yesterday. I’m sure I will have to take frequent yoga breaks today.
I made a poor choice in movies last night, and, instead of replenishing me, the film merely annoyed me. It was Unfaithful, a film I’d heard a lot about when it was released. I didn’t like it. I found it unbelievable, and, frankly, I don’t think it’s okay that the husband murders the lover and the wife accepts it. There wasn’t enough invested in the two characters to make me believe it.
Even though there are plot differences and thematic differences, there were enough similarities between this film and A Perfect Murder that it made me wonder. The characters of the lovers were quite similar, although Olivier Martinez (in Unfaithful) and Viggo Mortensen (in A Perfect Murder) are very different men and each brings his own unique qualities to the roles played. But the coldness and calculation in both of the lovers was so similar that it made me wonder if both films were script doctored by the same person. Yes, sexually, both characters were hot and the women fell for the passion. But there was such a coldness in both lovers’ characters that I didn’t believe either woman would stay with the man beyond one or two encounters. If a woman is in a sterile marriage, I believe she’s looking for more than simply sex. She wants warmth. And neither lover in either film offered warmth. And, though far too many women allow themselves to be controlled by the various men in their lives, in fiction, I expect more. I want to see them move past it, learn from it, and have fresh strength. Even though the wife in A Perfect Murder not only survives, but takes her husband down, the way it unfolded didn’t work for me. Unfaithful reminded me of A Perfect Murder so constantly, I almost felt like I was watching the films simultaneously.
I managed to do a few pages of Ransagh last night -- a reaction to getting some work done in a fictional world I wanted to inhabit as a response to the dissatisfaction I felt from the movie.
On a more positive note, the copy of May Sarton’s Journal of a Solitude that I ordered for class arrived. I don’t even want to think how many copies of that book I’ve gone through over the years. But, of course, my copy is in storage and I needed a new one, so I bought another one. This one is the original, small version, rather than the Trade Paperback available now. I like it better. So I will re-read it over the next few days to reacquaint myself with it before class starts.
I’ll check my e-mail, and then Bessie Smith goes on the CD player and my attention focuses on Glamourous Hearts. I am looking forward to spending the day with Harriet, Leonard, Martine and William.
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