Star Wars
I caught part of a TV interview with George Lucas, about his trials and tribulations in producing Stars Wars, and about his vision for the movie. There were retro pictures of the early days, when he was young and struggling to be taken seriously in the industry. His personal saga is very impressive, even heroic, and very romantic, in the sense of having a single-minded purpose in pursuing his love and standing up for his beliefs against all odds, and living happily ever after. George had me right then and there, even before saying hello.
I remember the first screening of Star Wars. We were living in Baltimore. We stood in line five blocks long for hours, in Towson, just to get in. Harrison Ford was a nobody but was really cute in the movie. But not cuter that R2 and 3PO, and Yoda. And Darth Vader was unforgettable with James Earl Jones’ voice . Luke was forgettable as played by Mark Hammil (whatever happened to him?) and Princess Leia was only memorable to me because of her hair-do. For Halloween that year every little girl including my Jay-Jay wanted to be costumed as Princess Leia. I had to sew her dress, and I had the devil of a time fashioning those buns behind her ears. Jay-Jay’s hair was so silky, the buns just kept on escaping and unwinding from its hairpin moorings. Now Jay-Jay has a 6-year-old RahRah but I doubt that she’ll want to be Padme this Halloween.
The whole Star Wars phenomenon just blows me away. You’ll be an alien if you didn’t send someone off with the exhortation ; “May the Force be with you”. And did you catch Yoda’s speech reversals? And the money that went with it, blockbuster! I didn’t know until I saw the interview, that it spawned the merchandise tie-in business and that George himself was a techie genius and pushed technical innovations in animation and computer digital imagery. It said that until TheRevenge of the Siths, technology had not come in synch to match George’s vision for the technical wizardry.
Of course I have to go see this. I’m compulsive enough that it would feel incomplete if I didn’t go to this one, after all I went to all the previous installments. And closure is calming. George himself said that he can rest in peace now, he has come around full circle in 3 decades and the story is complete. Just like a life story. I have a sense of what he’s talking about. This past year, I have been through the endings of life stories of dear ones closest to my heart. George was also talking about influences that shaped his story-telling in Star Wars. He read Joseph Campbell. Wow, the man is deep! And of course you can see the classics in the story line, Shakespeare, the myths and fairy tales of the world, the Greek tragedies, the major faiths in the themes of the chosen one and incarnation and the hereafter, the struggle between good and evil, etc. Those are the subliminal themes that appeal universally. There is nothing original in the themes, but the story-telling captivates still.
So I decided to play hooky and catch the matinee at Phipps. I was with hundreds of school kids, wearing flowing capes and storm troopers get-up and Darth Vader masks chomping and crunching loudly at their popcorns. Their chaperones kept on standing up and hushing them. When the theatre went dark, and the opening scene of the galaxy and the crawling opening paragraph came on, there was a hush, and on cue light sabers flashed everywhere and there was applause, then for the rest of the movie, rapt attention and silence, not a popcorn could be heard!
At 2 hours and 20 minutes, it was a tad too long. It sagged towards the middle and I thought I’d snooze at the constant swish and kapow of the galactic battle scenes, it got boring. I thought the scenes were too busy with so many details that it sort of lost definition, one scene blended into the other. Perhaps the newfangled digital technology made it easier to create scenes and characters that it got too many, they became all background. The opening aerial dogfight was sterile. It had too many movements, but no drama and gripping moments where you can feel your heart in your throat and really live with the suspense and get into the scene. It was too video game-like, all maneuverings and no feeling. I wasn’t into the scenes either during the massacre in the Jedi temple and the murder of the younglins. It failed to create emotion, it failed to have impact. I don’t know what’s missing, but there was something missing. Even the genocide scenes just looked like tableaus, a picture that you look at like in an album and you move to the next page. However Hayden Christensen rules. Who is he? I hear he’s Canadian. He makes Darth Vader simpatico, and this movie is really about Darth Vader and in that George I agree did accomplish his goal. Hayden acted his role seriously, and that’s the tone of the whole movie. It was rather grave and heavy and dark, with little relief except a few scenes with R2 and 3PO and Yoda. The villain Palpatine is delicious. And Ewan Mcgregor was not bad, at least he did not play his part so seriously. Natalie Portman looked like a rich Jedi’s wife, she didn’t have much to do in the movie but look pretty and wait. I miss the tongue-in-cheek acting style in the first Star Wars. It lets the audience know that this is a fairy tale and a cartoon and just come and enjoy the movie, whereas Revenge of the Siths is trying to deliver a message and I don’t particularly care for that in my movie. And why was Bush speaking through Palpatine here? “ If you do not agree with us then you are against us, and you must be destroyed!”
Oh well, it was nice to slip from work and while the afternoon away at the movies, then shop Phipps after. I had a great time!
Friday, May 20, 2005
Friday, April 08, 2005
Is it Providence?
I was suddenly wide awake before my alarm clock went off this morning and I thought, "Hmm, might be interesting to watch the pope's funeral." So I turned the TV on and I couldn't leave my eyes off it. I was mesmerized and completely swept away. I was crying and was having a lot of feelings and thoughts flying through my mind and I couldn't get myself ready for work. I wanted to stay with the moment and see where it will take me so I called in sick. Besides my eyes were all swollen and I have a headache and feeling lightheaded from all the emotions and the weeping, I was truly feeling sick and miserable but in a contented, serene way, if you know what I mean. I wanted to have somebody with me to share my feelings and my thoughts and that's when living alone feels so lonesome. So writing this blog entry is a way for me to stay connected and to listen to myself and to get a handle on what's happening to me.
It's not extraordinary that I have a reaction to the pope. The whole world is reacting to him as witnessed by this unprecedented outpouring of grief and celebration at his funeral. The glorious ceremony of the requiem high mass in Latin accompanied by gregorian choral music and the rich baritone recitata of the liturgy transfixed me to the joyous memories of high masses attended during celebrations of life in my childhood in the Philippines. I'm not oblivious to the fact that the Vatican is very mindful of the politics of this occasion. Notice the parade of readers from various countries, including that pretty young girl from the Philippines who delivered her message in Tagalog. I'm sure too that President Bush is very much aware of the political points he'll earn by attending the pope's funeral. The media is again in a frenzy in their coverage . They've been blessed by these back to back sensational events, having just left behind the Terry Schiavo case. Nevertheless, one can derive an uplifting experience from it. I think I have. I'm not a practicing catholic, though I was born and baptized one. For me being catholic is not a matter of religious faith but that of culture and tradition. I loved the Latin high mass, sung by the seminary choir with the Handel music reverberating in the buttressed stone walls of Spanish -built cathedrals. I loved the May ritual of bringing flowers to throw at the feet of the Virgin Mary. I loved the dawn "misa de gallo" masses, the 9 days preceding christmas, the midnight christmas eve mass, the feast of the three kings, when as children we hung stockings outside our window for the 3 magis to fill up with candies during the night.I loved Easter, at which time we got new clothes and ate a special brunch after the mass.When Johnny died I found solace in the traditions practiced for the dead, like the novena prayers after burial, which will be done for the pope too. But all these practices is not a matter of religious faith for me. Very early on I found confession to be hypocritical, and I found all these image and statue adoration of saints idolatrous, I guess because I did not have faith. I cannot yield myself in obedience to god's will. I'm of the opinion that shit happens at random. I cannot ask god for help because it's my opinion that it's up to me to solve my problems. I cannot wait to be saved and rise again after death because it's my opinion that when I die, my body rots and is claimed by the earth and returns to its elemental state, and I only live in the memories of those who care about me. So I'm not afraid to die, because I'm not afraid of hell, for there is no such thing. I cannot abide by the way the virgin birth of Jesus is explained, and the cop out of declaring it a mystery, and having believers swallow it line and sinker this way. If they explained it in terms of symbolism and myth I might see the point, but for me it's just soo far out, come on gimme a break! And for them to insist that Jesus really bodily rose from the dead and ascended to heaven, and the Virgin Mary later on, wow! I'm incredulous that learned sages in the church keep on interpreting the bible this way, as if there is really a place like heaven and hell. The clergy encourages that we see these places as depicted in the old masters paintings as real places to go to. That means too that Jesus is Caucasian, never mind that he sprung from the Mediterranean, and most likely might look like an Arab or a Jew. And the religion presumes that sex is the downfall of man and the temptress is a woman. Is that why Jesus is not the product of sexual intercourse and priests are celibates? They can only be holy if not associated with female sexuality. In all the years that I was growing up Catholic in the Philippines, none in the church had ever interpreted the religion to me in a different way. This is how they're teaching the doctrine of faith. If there is a saner interpretation, it is not coming across to the masses, and therefore the church is not doing a good job. But my point of reflection is not the Catholic religion as I watched the pope's funeral but on John Paul II, as a human being. He inspires me. He is a hero. He is pure. He is authentic. He is true. He is courageous, a man of principle, of passion, of generosity and full of love. He is a man of faith and consistent in his actions with that faith, regardless of public opinion or rejection. It seems faith comes out of a mystical experience, and sadly, not everyone is afforded that opporunity or perhaps not open or oblivious to it. The pope's life circumstances gave him the opportunity and he was receptive. Early bereavement with the loss of his mother in childhood, the repressive communist regime in Poland, witnessing suffering up close, facing the possibility of death in his formative years, his religious upbringing and contemplative nature, and his personal talents, all combined to give him this opportunity to experience an exalted state. It is an out-of-body experience that is a total high and utterly life-transforming. It is hypnotic and allows one to be in touch and to be truly focused into one's internal consciousness. Some forms of these experience have been seen in the apoplectic responses of believers in consciousness-raising church revival worship, in the account of born-again christians, of torture victims, of victims of life-endangering illness or events. The experience can be approximated by techniques like meditation or hypnosis, or by the effects of some mind-altering drugs. But John Paul II had more than the experience to account for his heroic stature. He is truly a good man and a very bright and talented man, and he had the creativity and vision, and discipline and faith to transform his mystical experience into an extraordinary life that touched millions across the planet. We are so hungry for heroes in this era of cynicism and opportunism and he is a great one for the ages. I may not adopt his religion but I'd like to walk a little in his shadow, to give some meaning to my life on earth. Let's see if going to a Zen retreat in the Tassajara mountains this summer will be a pathway for me to approximate enlightenment.
It's not extraordinary that I have a reaction to the pope. The whole world is reacting to him as witnessed by this unprecedented outpouring of grief and celebration at his funeral. The glorious ceremony of the requiem high mass in Latin accompanied by gregorian choral music and the rich baritone recitata of the liturgy transfixed me to the joyous memories of high masses attended during celebrations of life in my childhood in the Philippines. I'm not oblivious to the fact that the Vatican is very mindful of the politics of this occasion. Notice the parade of readers from various countries, including that pretty young girl from the Philippines who delivered her message in Tagalog. I'm sure too that President Bush is very much aware of the political points he'll earn by attending the pope's funeral. The media is again in a frenzy in their coverage . They've been blessed by these back to back sensational events, having just left behind the Terry Schiavo case. Nevertheless, one can derive an uplifting experience from it. I think I have. I'm not a practicing catholic, though I was born and baptized one. For me being catholic is not a matter of religious faith but that of culture and tradition. I loved the Latin high mass, sung by the seminary choir with the Handel music reverberating in the buttressed stone walls of Spanish -built cathedrals. I loved the May ritual of bringing flowers to throw at the feet of the Virgin Mary. I loved the dawn "misa de gallo" masses, the 9 days preceding christmas, the midnight christmas eve mass, the feast of the three kings, when as children we hung stockings outside our window for the 3 magis to fill up with candies during the night.I loved Easter, at which time we got new clothes and ate a special brunch after the mass.When Johnny died I found solace in the traditions practiced for the dead, like the novena prayers after burial, which will be done for the pope too. But all these practices is not a matter of religious faith for me. Very early on I found confession to be hypocritical, and I found all these image and statue adoration of saints idolatrous, I guess because I did not have faith. I cannot yield myself in obedience to god's will. I'm of the opinion that shit happens at random. I cannot ask god for help because it's my opinion that it's up to me to solve my problems. I cannot wait to be saved and rise again after death because it's my opinion that when I die, my body rots and is claimed by the earth and returns to its elemental state, and I only live in the memories of those who care about me. So I'm not afraid to die, because I'm not afraid of hell, for there is no such thing. I cannot abide by the way the virgin birth of Jesus is explained, and the cop out of declaring it a mystery, and having believers swallow it line and sinker this way. If they explained it in terms of symbolism and myth I might see the point, but for me it's just soo far out, come on gimme a break! And for them to insist that Jesus really bodily rose from the dead and ascended to heaven, and the Virgin Mary later on, wow! I'm incredulous that learned sages in the church keep on interpreting the bible this way, as if there is really a place like heaven and hell. The clergy encourages that we see these places as depicted in the old masters paintings as real places to go to. That means too that Jesus is Caucasian, never mind that he sprung from the Mediterranean, and most likely might look like an Arab or a Jew. And the religion presumes that sex is the downfall of man and the temptress is a woman. Is that why Jesus is not the product of sexual intercourse and priests are celibates? They can only be holy if not associated with female sexuality. In all the years that I was growing up Catholic in the Philippines, none in the church had ever interpreted the religion to me in a different way. This is how they're teaching the doctrine of faith. If there is a saner interpretation, it is not coming across to the masses, and therefore the church is not doing a good job. But my point of reflection is not the Catholic religion as I watched the pope's funeral but on John Paul II, as a human being. He inspires me. He is a hero. He is pure. He is authentic. He is true. He is courageous, a man of principle, of passion, of generosity and full of love. He is a man of faith and consistent in his actions with that faith, regardless of public opinion or rejection. It seems faith comes out of a mystical experience, and sadly, not everyone is afforded that opporunity or perhaps not open or oblivious to it. The pope's life circumstances gave him the opportunity and he was receptive. Early bereavement with the loss of his mother in childhood, the repressive communist regime in Poland, witnessing suffering up close, facing the possibility of death in his formative years, his religious upbringing and contemplative nature, and his personal talents, all combined to give him this opportunity to experience an exalted state. It is an out-of-body experience that is a total high and utterly life-transforming. It is hypnotic and allows one to be in touch and to be truly focused into one's internal consciousness. Some forms of these experience have been seen in the apoplectic responses of believers in consciousness-raising church revival worship, in the account of born-again christians, of torture victims, of victims of life-endangering illness or events. The experience can be approximated by techniques like meditation or hypnosis, or by the effects of some mind-altering drugs. But John Paul II had more than the experience to account for his heroic stature. He is truly a good man and a very bright and talented man, and he had the creativity and vision, and discipline and faith to transform his mystical experience into an extraordinary life that touched millions across the planet. We are so hungry for heroes in this era of cynicism and opportunism and he is a great one for the ages. I may not adopt his religion but I'd like to walk a little in his shadow, to give some meaning to my life on earth. Let's see if going to a Zen retreat in the Tassajara mountains this summer will be a pathway for me to approximate enlightenment.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
To Die or not to Die
I'm having nightmares about this media frenzy on Shiavo's destiny. I thought I nimbly glided through in making my decision together with my 7 siblings, to disconnect my mother from the respirator which was keeping her alive after a massive brain stem vascular event. She was comatose when I arrived at her bedside at the Mother Seton Hospital in Naga City, Philippines on December 18,2004 . She had a respiratory arrest after her stroke and was on a ventilator to support her breathing. As each one of us, her 8 children began to arrive from various parts of the USA, we are confronted with the question of what to do in the situation. I noticed we made the decision by attributing it as our mother's choice. We eased our discomfort by convincing ourselves that this is what our mother would do herself, that she would never let it be that she'll be maintained alive in a vegetative state. It helped us in our decision that she was unresponsive, that she never emerged from her coma. There were moments when she responsed reflexively with movement when stimulated and that was excruciating to see, because it made me doubt my decision. It made me question whether I'm making the decision for her or for my benefit. I was aware throughout of the time constraints. I have limited leave days from my job and I have sent invitations already to more that 100 people for Johnny's first death anniversary memorial prayer and brunch on January 1. I felt the pressure to return to the States before the date so I can prepare. Even as I contemplated mama dying after the ventilator is disconnected and I began to make funeral arrangements, there was the possibility that she could maintain breathing and live in a coma for an indefinite period of time. She will require complete nursing care and so simultaneously we are making arrangements for 24-hour nursing care and wondering how the 8 of us can supervise her care living in the USA. The last siblings arrived on the 21st but we had to postpone the decision when we were told that one of us had to pull the tube off from mama ourselves. The act of doing it completely destabilized all of us. That was a very horrible thing to face. I was told by a friend that that's not how it's done here in the States. And after Minda volunteered to pull the tube, we had to make decisions on every detail of her dying which we were not prepared for at all by her doctors or anyone else from the hospital. My friend again told me that that's not how it's done here in the States. There is a protocol in place that is activated after the family makes a decision to withdraw life support which eases the burden of the decision for the family. The Sisters of Charity running the Mother Seton Hospital is devoid of mercy. We were barraged with wrenching questions at every turn. It's time for her medications, should they continue giving it? Should they draw blood for monitoring acid-base balance? Should they continue the IV infusion? Should they feed her after the IV bag is empty? It was agonizing. I felt like I was being made to suffer for making the decision. And mama lingered for 30 hours and we watched her with labored breathing and then she just took one more and she was still. That was December 24 at 5 PM. I wasn't there when she took her last breath. I was just arriving at home when the message reached me that mama had died. I rushed back to the hospital and although we've been waiting for death to claim her, when it did, it was like a surprise, it was like I regretted making the decision to hasten it and wanted her alive. Shiavo's case brings all these back to me. It makes me angry that Bush and Congress are meddling with this issue. Nobody has any right to say anything about this unless he/she had been through the same thing.
Sunday, March 20, 2005
alien universe
I've just created a blog for myself. I don't even know how to use the word blog. Should i have said I just created a blog site? Oh well, whatever. Here I am trying a new enterprise, going into a new world completely alien. Let's see what I'll stumble into. Those who know me will knwo exactly why I chose the title, Ship High in Transport, and that's exactly what this blog is all about.
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