sketchablepaperfold

an aiming to be designer, with the soul of a writer

Tag: cinema

The Quote

“I do not know, but happiness is within my grasp and I cannot help myself”

One of the greatest sentences that Jane Austen said on Becoming Jane. Gosh, I feel exactly like her.

[and it feels sooo great that I can’t almost find the words to explain]

I mean, I could actually write about it, but it would absolutely be novel-like, and it would take me a lot of time to write it.

By the way, one great event I’ve experienced last week made me want to start another period novel – just to include it in a masterpiece and write even more about it.

[yes, because I’ve already wrote pages about a few seconds, and I can’t get it out of my mind. Oh, and of course, that moment was exactly what led me to remember the quote, and want to pursue and achieve my happiness, instead of simply remaining quiet, waiting for its arrival]

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Reflecting On “Becoming Jane”

 

I accidentally stumbled on a movie I’ve never heard of. An old look I could easily grasp for the clothes. The british accent I’ve loved my entire existence. A gently lightened wood. It was only after seeing it that I decided to read the title.

But no, I’d never guess it would be about Jane Austen, until I read the resume.

I forgot the time and, of course, of everything I should and had to do. I simply continued to watch.

Being a complete stranger to her own life, I shall think that most of the events portrayed in the movie have, indeed, occurred. Of course I heard a mention to Jane’s “Persuasion” at “The Lake House” [a 2006 movie with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves that I simply adore] and to her “Pride and Prejudice”, whose movie I haven’t watched yet.

And being, myself, the truest type of the lonely romantic creature, I just couldn’t bear that she gave up the love of her life, Tom. Yes, yes, I completely understand her choice, her position – indeed, despite being here, with the truest indignation in my heart and fingers, if I were her, I might have done the exact same thing.

Yet, it seems so painful to live with that sort of loneliness, specially when Tom has said I’m yours, heart and soul and sacrificed everything and everyone who relied on him to be with her. I know that would, at some point, affect them and that she’d always feel worried – and, worse, guilty – for putting someone else’s life at risk. And I also know that knowing that would destroy her and keep her from being entirely happy.

Yet, being on the outside, having never heard a sincere “I’m yours”, and standing two centuries after her, I think I can provide myself the joy [I wonder if I can, even, consider it a joy] of saying that I’d also never forgive myself for letting him go away.

As a mere XXI century watcher, I felt so relieved when he came back and proposed an escape. I truly felt everything would be solved and relatively good.

She ended up not having great things, loosing her beloved one and staying with almost nothing but her writing. “I will live by my pen”, she said and, well, she still does. Even being dead to the world, Jane is still truly alive in her words, in her books.

Again, as a mere and solitary XXI century observer, I can only wonder how everything would be if she hadn’t found the letter, if she actually got married to Tom and they went to Scotland, as they wanted. I can only wonder how life would have been if, along with her characters, she could actually have accomplished what she wanted.

[Obviously, I can’t avoid thinking what if it was me?, what would I do, as a single young woman who had to write to live. She lost love but she kept writing. Well, of course she did. And, I guess, she actually wrote even more, to compensate her inner sorrow.

Oh writers, so predictable, aren’t we?! Creatures who live – or try to – and end up so confused and overwhelmed that they have to write. And no, it’s not just a will, an evidence of being spoiled. Writing is, indeed, for people like us – who have loved a lot, but also suffered a lot – a need.

A need that is, truly, equivalent to the need that everyone who doesn’t write has to breathe.]

My Life Could Be A Movie, But I’d Rather Have A Prime Time Series

Here and there, I think that my life would be enough for a movie. Here and there?! Sometimes?! Gosh, what am I saying? I always think that.

However, in the following moment, I grasp reality: three hours would be even less than insignificant, and it wouldn’t even tell a tiny fraction of the story.

No, my life would truly be enough for an entire collection of books, a saga, an actual odyssey of adventures and misadventures transposed from paper to screen film. And it would be broadcast all over the world, so that everyone could enunciate which and how many features of my being, my existence, they’d share.

But it could be better than all of that – since not every movie lasts longer in our memory than the time it takes to reach the bottom of one or two sweet popcorn buckets, or to hear the noise, the attrition between the straw and the ice cubes.

Better and more efficient than being on red carpet once and getting the Oscar for best dramatic movie would be a prime time series. [Yeah, blame me for thinking big!]

Yes, one of those which have countless seasons, which last episodes always end with an intriguing to be continued…

One of those that almost leads the audience to sympathize with the story, because it seems so real and it could happen to anyone [And they wouldn’t know that the story was real and that, in the end of the credits, an any resemblance to real life is not a mere coincidence would be included]

One of those series that in the exact moment that everything seems to be all right, there’s a problem coming, and this scenery would happen over and over again, getting to upset the most insensible ones who, doubtless, would leave the couch with a rude it’s always the same thing! They only do this to increase their ratings!  [Surely they wouldn’t know that lives which, sometimes, look like mexican soap operas actually exist and it’s not all the time they’re solved with a simple channel switch.

It would be great, wouldn’t it?! Oh boy, it would! We all wish we could just switch the program, switch the channel, or even throw the television throughout the window and invest our time in something more useful, profitable and interesting.

They’ll be an amount of poor viewers, those who’d follow the story, my story. At a certain point, they’ll end up feeling just like me. Together, we’d bring companies like Kleenex to the undeniable success;  laugh – perhaps – from nothing at all; appreciate the spring breeze; relish a nice hot chocolate; and tenderly smile hearing ballads – but only the sweet ballads – from Norah Jones.

[Yes, I truly wrote this last sentence hearing Those Sweet Words, one of her sweetest songs, and I just couldn’t avoid smiling]

Life as a Movie; Penelope as the Main Character


It’s honestly weird when things go out of your control. You imagine something, you define a path, you grasp the visual effect – just like they do in the movies – and everything works, there’s not even one piece that doesn’t match your artistic puzzle.

But then, the unexpected happens and you just see your scenes fall to the ground, burn into ashes.

Despite you’ve felt angry, a few hours later that sense of emptiness will definitely arrive.

Have you ever been invited one hour before the beginning of the event? If you did, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

No, it wasn’t a big deal. It was just a normal thing I’ve already said I couldn’t do but, still, people warn me minutes before the meeting. And, notice, that was the second time it occurred.

To say the truth, there’s nothing I wanted to do more than screaming at the person, but I couldn’t. I would, I honestly would if I had nothing to lose, and if I knew for sure I wouldn’t regret that decision.

Despite that, after all, I just felt empty. Empty, because I do talk, socialize, go out and have fun, but always have the feeling that something is missing.

Empty, because I’ve seen this happening before. Moreover, I don’t want this movie to end just like the previous ones. I don’t want a remake. I want a new piece, a fresh start to be seen with a bucket of popcorn, instead of something I’ve seen over and over again, making me sleepy.

I wish I didn’t feel this whole inside of me, that huge lack of support you feel when you’re sixty and you’re tired of being alone.

It’s like I’ve just went to the sea and watch my beloved one leave on a ship, without knowing if he’ll ever return. Yes, that’s the movie I haven’t seen – I don’t remember the departure. I only recall the emptiness of those ancient stories, like Penelope, and much more Penelope’s that remained unknown, unnamed, perfect Jane Does.

I feel like them, in spite I’m not embroidering a tapestry during the day, and undoing it at night. I just wait by the sea, feeling that calm and cold breeze waving my hair; my eyes staring at the water, while time passes without a sound, and I simply remain still.

[No, I haven’t found the photograph in the internet: I took it, a few days ago and absolutely fell in love with that place… ]