The story about Adam had a very clear correlation to Hamlet. Both young men separated themselves from their family because they felt like they couldn’t be understood. And in a way, both were brain damaged. Adam in a more literal way, Hamlet in a more figurative way. Hamlet drives himself crazy trying to do something he does not want to do, killing all the normal relationships he had and forcing himself to become a tragic hero. He rejects all those who love him because he feels like they are all fakes, liars. Adam was forced by the damage to his brain to become like that. He no longer knew who he was, had to regain a sense of self and others, and often felt as though the people in his life were fake. Just like Hamlet, he had lost his identity through a situation that was thrust upon him. The difference between these two men was, other than their reasons for lost identity, the fact that Hamlet continually forced himself farther back into this madness while Adam, and everyone in his life, was trying to work himself back into a normal life.
Citizen Kane – Movie Review
My Senior Project this year is on greatness in film and for the project portion I’ve picked out six films (made between the years 1941 and 1990) to watch and review. This is the sixth and final of those reviews. If you’re interested in reading more or commenting on the reviews, feel free to go to post a response! Hope you enjoy!
I’ve put off doing this review to the end for a couple of reasons. One, it’s such a monumental film that a high schooler reviewing it seems almost ridiculous to think about and I’ll admit that it intimidated me. Two, it’s such a monumental film that it only seemed fitting to save it for last. Citizen Kane has been considered the greatest film of all time by experts for nearly fifty years. At its first release it did extremely poorly, winning only one Oscar (Best Screenplay) after being nominated for eight others. The resemblance of the main character (Kane) to William Randolph Hearst fueled much of the failure of the film, since he did everything in his power to make sure the movie did poorly. However, twenty-one years after its first release, the film finally received the praise it deserved. It has since been number one, the movie to beat, which naturally makes it unbeatable. While I find all this talk of “the greatest movie ever made” to be just a tiny bit unrealistic and too easily bestowed on Orson Welles’s groundbreaking creation, it certainly deserves a place near the top and a place in my reviews.
When Welles set out to make his debut film he was only twenty-four years old. He helped write the story, directed the film, acted in the main role, and assisted in creating new technology and cinematographic advances that made the film a shocking first in many, many ways. His use of proportions, distances, and angels in telling the story was very original in how it showed different characters; weak characters were shot from above to make them look more oppressed and, characters with power were shot from beneath to emphasize their strength. A new lens was developed so that distances would appear as clear on screen as the things up close. Welles helped pioneer all of these things, as well as was the most impressive actor of the film. The other characters felt small and forgettable compared Welles’s powerful portrayal of Charles Foster Kane.
The film tells the story of a young, poor boy (Kane) who comes upon money when a wealthy relative passes away. He’s taken to the city where he’s spoiled and taught how to live as a wealthy individual. As a young man, he decides to buy a newspaper and become the chief editor, a gamble which begins by being a complete failure. He sticks with it though, becoming famous and popular. To gain more social standing, he marries the President of the United State’s niece with whom his relationship steadily decreases. Trying for a political career ends in scandal, and the complete collapse of his marriage. Eventually he finds himself divorcing his wife for his lover, and then attempts to launch her into a career in the Opera–once again, a failure. He becomes abusive and finds himself alone as he dies, the last word to leave his lips starting a mystery that the press spends the entire film trying to solve. “Rosebud,” he whispers, and the whole world wonders what it means.
While the story is complex and the cinematography excellent and groundbreaking, there is always the question, “does this film really deserve its prestigious title?” In my humble opinion, no. Why? Because it’s not engaging, it’s not exciting, it’s not loveable, it’s not memorable as anything other than a long film about boring and hateful characters. Now, as a teenager I recognize that my attention span is perhaps a little too short for such a brilliant masterpiece, but I can also say that I have rarely been so unmoved by a film. I like to think of myself as an art lover when it comes to movies and I enjoy a classic as much if not more than the next person. But this film is simply not moving. Amazing? Yes. Worth watching? Yes. Groundbreaking? Yes! But the greatest film of all time? No. It lacks the elements of drama that touch the audience, not to mention relatable characters. It’s by every definition an important and even great film but just because it potentially changed movies as we know it does not make it the greatest ever. Let’s call things what they ought to be called. I think this film deserves the title “most important movie ever” or “most influential/groundbreaking film of all time”. But there’s an empty space where the passion should be. A great film, nonetheless, Citizen Kane deserves the praise it’s received. As a member of the audience, though, I pronounce it lacking in qualities necessary for that ultimate title which it has worn proudly for the last nearly half a century. Citizen Kane simply is not, as I see it, the best film ever made.
American Graffiti – Movie Review
My Senior Project this year is on greatness in film and for the project portion I’ve picked out six films (made between the years 1941 and 1990) to watch and review. This is the fifth of those reviews. If you’re interested in reading more or commenting on the reviews, feel free to go to post a response! Hope you enjoy!
Where were you in ’62? the tagline of George Lucas’s American Graffiti asks boldly. My response would have to be, “I wasn’t even an idea then. My dad was born in the late sixties.” But the catchy phrase still holds some meaning for me. I may not have been around in ’62, but that’s sort of what makes American Graffiti so important to kids like me. Any and all cultural knowledge that I have concerning the sixties was started by watching that movie. Almost every song that I know from that era I learned from the soundtrack of that film which my family would listen to on long road trips. Fashion, cars, slang, all of what I know about that from the sixties I learned from American Graffiti and it is that cultural importance that makes me say if you haven’t seen it yet, you should!
George Lucas’s second film, American Graffiti was nominated for five Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Screenplay. In contrast to his first very serious movie, Lucas decided to go with a much more humorous tone in this film and it went over wonderfully. It influenced many films and TV shows such as Happy Days and plenty of other coming of age stories that took place in the back of a cruising car. On top of its influence, add on a great cast. Richard Dreyfuss, Ron Howard, Harrison Ford, and lots of other currently famous but then fresh and talented actors who went on to have great careers afterwards. Then, add in the fact that it was hugely successful compared to its relatively low budget and short filming time. It was a movie that greatly captured the night life of the sixties and the humor of an excellent screenplay.
The story takes place in, obviously, 1962 in Modesto, California. It centers around two boys just graduated from high school and ready to escape from their small town and get away to college. At least, that’s what (Howard) thinks. His friend (Dreyfuss) is less certain. They have one last night before they’re supposed to fly off to college and they spend it wrapped up in the cruising, flirting, mooning craziness of the town. When Howard’s girlfriend breaks up with him, things get serious and he has to decide if college is really the right course for him, or if he’d rather stay there with her. Dreyfuss spends the night searching for his true love in a white T-bird and coming to realize that he’s ready to leave the nest. All their other friends get themselves into plenty of hilarious trouble over the course of the night, racing, avoiding gangs, smuggling liquor, and finding love as only high school can provide it. It’s a wildly funny story with lots of twists and turns to keep up with among the various characters, but that’s just what makes it so endearing. By the end you love every one of them!
It’s successful, it’s memorable, and it’s influential. Without a doubt, it’s an important film for anyway who wasn’t around in ’62. Even if you’re not interested in understanding the pop culture of the sixties, the comedy and acting in the film is such that you should want to see it anyway. It’s just all around fun. And it captures the awkwardness of beginning relationships, flirting, dating, trying to fit in, and just being a teenager. Every high schooler should see it, if only to understand that high school is crazy no matter what era you’re in. You can be a cruising kid from Modesto, CA or you can be an international student at WBAIS, Israel, there are lots of things that never change. So if you’re still in doubt, watch it because I promise you’ll be happy you did.
To Kill a Mockingbird – Movie Review
My Senior Project this year is on greatness in film and for the project portion I’ve picked out six films (made between the years 1941 and 1990) to watch and review. This is the fourth of those reviews. If you’re interested in reading more or commenting on the reviews, feel free to go to post a response! Hope you enjoy!
In almost every pairing of books made to movies, the film simply cannot compare with the more in depth and personal nature of the book and therefore is a disappointment to all the fans that adored the novel. However, there is the occasional pairing of a good book made into a good movie. One such example is the beloved classic To Kill a Mockingbird. As a book, it’s a masterpiece. As a movie, it’s excellent. I fell in love with the novel upon reading it the first time and, while you can’t compare books and movies completely, I had my doubts that the film could match up. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that it deserved all the praise it was awarded and could only be seen as a wonderful rendition of the novel.
To Kill a Mockingbird, made in 1962, was an extremely controversial film, however it still managed to be a success. With eight nominations and three wins in the Academy Awards, including Best Actor (Gregory Peck) and Best Writing (adapted screenplay), the film earned recognition despite the debate behind it. It has since been recognized in many ways by the American Film institute, such as on its list of best films (ranking number 25), most inspirational films (number 2), and best heroic characters (Atticus Finch topped the list). It’s a classic by every definition; even Superman would tell you that. According to the comic books, To Kill a Mockingbird is Clark Kent’s favorite film.
The book was based off of writer Harper Lee’s life in Monroeville, Alabama, most especially her father’s court case defending an African American. The characters Atticus, Dill and Arthur “Boo” Radley were all based off of people from Harper’s home town (her father, her best friend Truman Capote, and Alfred “Son” Bouleware respectively). Harper was a close consultant during the production of the film and found every aspect from the set to Gregory Peck exactly like they were meant to be. Upon first seeing Peck in costume and watching his first scene, she cried because he reminded her so much of her father.
The story of To Kill a Mockingbird centers around Jem Finch, a young boy growing up in a very racist southern town. As he tries to become a man we see—through the eyes of his sister and the narrator of the story, Scout—the excellent example of their father, Atticus Finch, and the horrible effects of racism on the South at that time. The three children, Jem, Scout, and their friend Dill, spend summers together acting out scenes about the mysterious Boo Radley and discovering new things about Atticus, who they originally thought of as weak. As time goes by they come to realize what is going on in the quiet old town and what it really means to be a man. And the town learns a little bit about that two. It’s all seen through Scout’s eyes and, at first, it’s hard to know who the story really is about. But if you watch carefully, you see the relationship between Jem and Atticus growing and developing as Jem does.
My only complaint about the film in comparison with the book is the fact of the main character. In the book it is clearly Jem, while in the movie, Atticus is without doubt the focus of the story. While this in no way detracts from the film, it does change ever so slightly the feel of the story; rather than focusing on growing up, it’s aimed at telling the story of a very brave and honest man. This can be seen in the editing of the court room scene—perhaps the most moving trial scene ever on film—which is entirely centered on Atticus and cuts out the emotional responses of Jem and the other children. Once again, this is not a criticism of the movie so much as a note about it. The film still retains its heavy and important message along with touching the audience regardless of its change in focus.
To Kill a Mockingbird has a phenomenal cast and absolutely wonderful acting which makes Maycomb come to life and seem more like a snap shot of Alabama during that time period than a narrative film. From the first moment you see her on screen, you adore Scout, and her connection to her brother automatically endears him to you as well. Atticus, with his strong heart and soul, earns your love and respect within moments and Tom Robinson, with his honesty and helplessness, wins your support. Even the infamous Boo Radley, who you hear nothing but frightening things about from the start of the film, catches your heart when he smiles softly in response to Scout’s innocent exclamation of “Hey Boo!” Without a doubt, the movie is a touching examination of life as it really was back in Monroeville when Harper Lee wrote her classic novel.
Dances With Wolves – Movie Review
My Senior Project this year is on greatness in film and for the project portion I’ve picked out six films (made between the years 1941 and 1990) to watch and review. This is the third of those reviews. If you’re interested in reading more or commenting on the reviews, feel free to go to post a response! Hope you enjoy!
In the communities I grew up in it was not uncommon to see large groups of kids gathering together to play a modified version of capture the flag—cowboys and Indians. To those kids, the cowboys were clearly the heroes, taming the wild Indian warriors and claiming the land for America. In school, you hear a much more moderate version of the story, one where both sides have their strengths and weaknesses. In Dances with Wolves, you get the complete opposite. Instead of the brave and righteous cowboys, you see the glorified version of the noble “savages” of the Great Plains. It’s a beautiful image, inspiring in everyone the old daydreams of their youth when they envisioned themselves out on those plains. It’s also a politically charged film riling against the injustices heaped upon the Native Americans. But between the two extremes there’s just enough to create a pretty darn good movie, excluding its three hour runtime which, after about the first two hours, is a tad bit unnecessary.
With a total of twelve Academy Award nominations and seven wins, in 1998 Dances with Wolves was named the 75th greatest movie of all time by the American Film Institute. With its sweeping shots of America’s Great Plains and its stirring music, it’s no wonder that Best Cinematography and Best Music were among the awards it won. Others include Best Director, Best Editing, Best Writing, and Best Picture. Its story is slow paced, but intriguing, its characters hard to tell apart, but lovable. And with the perfect mascot, an adorable wolf named Two Socks, the film is complete.
The story takes place during the Civil War where John Dunbar, a brave soldier in the Union Army, is injured. He proves himself to be a worthy fighter and his bravery is rewarded when he is promoted and allowed a position at any station he wants. Having always dreamed of seeing the frontier, Dunbar chooses an abandoned outpost on the plains where he quickly learns that he is on his own in “hostile” territory. But, true to form, Dunbar decides to befriend the natives and soon finds himself becoming one of them. He learns their ways and their language, earns their respect and their loyalty, and falls in love with their culture and Stands With A Fist, the girl who translated for him before he knew the local language. As he slowly becomes one of the natives, he finds himself rejecting his old life and it rejects him just as quickly. Soldiers arrive at his outpost, thirsty for Native American blood.
On the positive side, this film is historically important. It shows the side of the Native Americans, one that text books often describe in passing. On the other hand, by glorifying the Indians of the Great Plains, you see the bias of the opposite side. While the Native Americans were not the savages that the White man perceived them to be at the time, they were not the wondrous and perfectly in-tuned-with nature people that we like to portray them as in film, literature, and art. There are portions of Dances with Wolves that find the middle ground of these two ideas, however much of the movie is spent on the extreme of lionizing the natives. This, coupled with the often “long-winded” feel of the film, which stretched forty minutes beyond the original cut, makes the latter half of the movie feel overdone and unnecessary. However, you cannot deny the other wonderful aspects of the film. It is a moving piece about the Great Plains and the natives that inhabited them, and it deserves every award and honor that it received. But in the opinion of this critic, its message in many ways drowns out the more subtle sounds of movie magic.
Movie Review – On the Waterfront
My Senior Project this year is on greatness in film and for the project portion I’ve picked out six films (made between the years 1941 and 1990) to watch and review. This is the second of those reviews. If you’re interested in reading more or commenting on the reviews, feel free to go to post a response! Hope you enjoy!
“You don’t understand. I could’ve had class. I could’ve been a contender. I could’ve been somebody instead of a bum, which is what I am.” Terry Malloy’s classic line, voted the third best movie quote of all time by the American Film Institute, is probably also one of the most mocked lines in film history. I’d heard it many times in many different movies—all except in the original. For months, despite my father’s high praise of the film, I avoided watching it, telling myself it would be boring and melodramatic. I have never been more wrong about a movie. It is neither boring, nor melodramatic; rather it is powerful and enticing and good enough for a second, third, or hundredth viewing.
The film was intended as an expose of the corruption taking place “on the waterfront” in New York. After much controversy and trouble over the script, based on the Pulitzer Prize winning articles written by Malcolm Johnson on the subject, production was begun. With a phenomenal cast under his belt, Elia Kazan created a film that was simultaneously touching and troubling. The performances of Lee J. Cobb (Johnny Friendly), Karl Malden (Father Barry), and Rob Steiger (Charley Malloy) earned the film three nominations for best actor in a supporting role. The movie went on to earn eight Academy Awards including best actor in a lead role (Marlon Brando) and best actress in a supporting role (Eva Marie Saint). It’s not surprising that the acting was so critically acclaimed, it’s exceptional. The excellent performances of the main actors made the script come to life.
The film begins with the untimely death–murder, actually–of Eddie Dole’s (Saint) brother. From the beginning it’s implied that Dole’s death was a result of him ratting on his dock boss, Johnny Friendly, and was helped, though not supported, by Terry Malloy (Brando). But things get more complicated when Terry and Eddie meet for the first time since grade school. Despite her natural instincts warning her that Terry is no good, Eddie can’t help but fall for his charm and, let’s face it, good looks. Meanwhile, Eddie’s close friend Father Barry decides to turn his church into a place of open rebellion against the corrupt dock bosses and Terry finds himself right in the middle of it. A brilliant love story and an excellent drama, On the Waterfront keeps you on the edge of your seat from start to finish.
As an older film (released in 1954), On the Waterfront is far from perfect when it comes to make-up, effects, and such, but it has a certain depth to it that is hard to find in modern film. The characters drive the story, a sharp contrast to today’s films which often center on special effects or big name actors. Once upon a time a film was simultaneously successful and great when it was a big budget production because it was a movie that the industry invested in. And not just with money, but with the best screenwriters, ideas, plots, actors, directors, and messages. Today big budgets tend to harm a film when it comes to critical acclaim and awards, perhaps because of the contrast with older films. A modern movie which costs an exorbitant amount of money simply implies big action, big actors, or big effects. On the Waterfront is an excellent example of that contrast. While slower paced than most movies we see today, it still manages to be enthralling to the very last minute.
Once again, this was a film that I had my doubts about. But after watching it once, it wasn’t enough. The next day I found myself watching it a second time and still loving it. It’s a movie that I suggest to any audience that is interested in classic films, great acting, wonderful love stories, or deep messages. If you haven’t seen it, I suggest that you do, if only for the cultural aspect of having a repertoire of older films to comment on at parties. But there are many, many more reasons to watch it aside from that most practical one. It’s memorable in every sense of the word and worth anyone and everyone’s time.
Movie Review – E.T. The Extra Terrestrial
My Senior Project this year is on greatness in film and for the project portion I’ve picked out six films (made between the years 1941 and 1990) to watch and review. This is the first of those reviews. If you’re interested in reading more or commenting on the reviews, feel free to go to post a response! Hope you enjoy!
It’s been voted the 20th best film of all time by Entertainment Weekly and the 3rd best science fiction film by the American Film Institute, as well as was the most financially successful film ever made until Star Wars was re-released in 1997. The first time I watched E.T. The Extra Terrestrial, my father told me about going to see it over and over again during the many months it stayed in theaters. At the time I couldn’t understand why—I found the movie to be weird, with poor special effects and a scary premise that made me reluctant to watch it for several more years. But after seeing it again, my perspective entirely changed. There’s something about E.T., whether it be his strange, waddling walk, his pug-like face, or his famous lines of “be good,” and “E.T. phone home”, that draws you into the film, despite any discouraging factors.
If asked to summarize what the movie is about, the simple answer would be an alien botanist that gets trapped on earth and found by a young boy who is determined to help the little guy get back home. But the simple answer ignores the actual point of the film. E.T. is not about aliens or extra terrestrial life or anything like that. It’s really about the relationships between family and friends and about the true meaning of love. Sound corny? Maybe. But perhaps that’s what makes E.T. so special. Upon being unofficially entered into a film festival before its release in 1982, it received an uproarious reaction from the enthusiastic crowd, unlike other official entries which failed to touch the audience. A generation after it was released I find myself as drawn into the story and characters as my father was when he first went to see it. So there’s something to be said for its somewhat cheesy message—the audience is eager to love the movie from the moment it begins.
The story starts out when a group of alien botanists visiting earth one night is interrupted by a human task force, which sends the aliens quickly back into space—so quickly, in fact, that they leave behind one of their own. However, the little alien soon makes friends with Elliot, a 10-year-old boy who finds and names the extra terrestrial E.T.; no surprise. Eventually, they start to learn how to communicate, and while Elliot is forced to hide E.T. from his mother and –of course –the less than welcoming task force that is still looking for the alien, he comes closer to his brother Michael and his sister Gertie. Once the language barrier is broken, they begin trying to create a device that will allow them to contact E.T.’s family, so that “E.T. phone home.” All too soon, though, E.T. gets sick and, through his special connection to the little alien, so does Elliot. The two of them have to fight to get E.T. back home before it’s too late.
Directed by Steven Spielberg, this movie is innovative in many different ways. Everything from the sound and score to the cinematography adds amazingly to the final product. The music, composed by the brilliant John Williams, was special in that the movie was edited around it at times, rather than the music being edited around the movie, which is how things are normally done. It’s a stirring composition that enhances the tale immensely. Also special about this film is the way the camera was used to help the audience connect to the younger/shorter characters. Almost the entire film was shot from a child’s height to increase the feeling of being close to Elliot and E.T. Until the second half of the film, the only adult face shown was Elliot’s mother. It’s a simple but extremely effective way of emphasizing the youth of the lead roles.
Overall, this film takes sci-fi to a level of intimacy that has not been achieved by any other. Famous lines and images from E.T. have been quoted and idolized in many aspects of the film industry; the silhouette of Elliot’s bicycle with E.T. sitting in the front basket has even become the symbol of Amblin Entertainment. So while I once was incredulous when it came to this movie, I have since come to recognize its value and have even come to love it for the great film it is. If you haven’t seen it, you should, and if you’ve already watched it, it’s worth a second, third, or hundredth time.
Anthology Creative Piece – Last Moments
Last Moments
“…broken back, severe damage to the face and hands, possible hemorrhaging…”
“When did they find him?”
“About fifteen minutes ago—”
His eyes fluttered open for a moment. The world was white and shined like it had exploded with light. Blue shadows stood above and around him, touched him with hands that were trembling but sure. They felt his neck and hands, pressing into his skin. A needle was jabbed into the crook of his elbow and he managed a pitiful moan, which sent the blue wraths into a frenzy of motion. He allowed his lids to slowly close again, returning him to darkness. Voices were calling out all around him and his ears were ringing with sounds that were strangely familiar, bringing with them memories of unpleasant things. He wanted to disappear, to wake from the dream; but it was too real to be a dream. The pain was real, those shadows were real.
Vaguely, he was aware that he was moving, though he was sure he was lying down at the same time. The world was spinning dangerously and he kept his eyes shut tight to block out the swirling color and light that bombarded him. He took a steadying breath that ended in a hacking cough. Something warm and wet filled his mouth followed by a bitter, metallic taste.
“Why hasn’t the anesthesia kicked in yet?” someone above him demanded harshly.
“Any minute now…” answered another voice. They sounded close, though all the rest of the world seemed far away, distant and indistinct.
He had come to a sudden stop. Slowly, he opened his eyes again. The blue shapes were still hovering above him, now more blurry and distorted than before. He blinked and they faded into dark smudges against the white light. Hazy thoughts were trudging through the thick mud his mind had become and he attempted to make his body respond to his weak commands. A thousand points of pain erupted along his spine and he felt air rush into his lungs sharply, along with the acidic liquid still in his mouth. It caught in his throat and he choked for breath, coughing again and tasting more bile on his tongue.
“We have to operate, now! This boy is hemorrhaging!”
His head fell pitifully to the side so that he wet cheek rested against his shoulder. Exhaustion mingled with pain and swept through his entire frame, slowly encompassing his thoughts so that he was lost in a world of color and agony. Opening and closing out of habit, his eyelids brought the world in and out of sight a few times as his chest rose with feeble breaths that shook his weakened body. The only thing that seemed clear was the cacophony of sounds—voices, footsteps, metal on metal—pierced rhythmically by shrill, mechanical beeps that seemed to echo in his mind like a melancholy Morse code. One high note followed by an agonizing pause charged with the collective fear of everyone around him, and then another sharp beep. The edges of his vision were beginning to turn black. It was like falling asleep, only more painful. Much more painful….
As though for the last time, his eyes opened and beheld the world, a mass of white and blue light that was blurred beyond recognition. Except for one thing. Out of the distorted haze he watched as, slowly, the form of a man materialized until he could see the stranger clearly, as though nothing were wrong with his vision. The man stood against the wall, a look of mingled pain and sadness on his face that seemed to bear the weight of the eternity. He shone with a light apart from that of the smudge-world, a light that was heavenly in comparison. Though, the boy didn’t know why, he knew this man could help. He wanted to reach out and touch the stranger, to feel that he was there. His throat felt like sandpaper covered in slimy bile, but he opened his mouth to speak to the man, to call to him for help.
“Please,” he rasped. “Help me.” The man did not move, though the anguish in his eyes deepened and his lips drew downward in a pain filled grimace. “I want to die,” the boy murmured. “Please….”
Everything began to fade until even the stranger was consumed in blackness. Nothing remained but the sound of his own heart beating and the mournful tune of the machine that was monitoring it.
~*~
Silence.
He took a deep breath and it did not hurt to feel his chest expand or his back press a little further into the bed. His eyes no longer burned, his ears no longer pounded, his mouth was free of bile and blood. Experimentally, he swallowed and found he could do it without choking for air. Then, still with some anxiety, he attempted to shift positions. He sat up easily, no sharp pains in his back or even a slight twinge. A smile spread slowly across his lips and he tentatively opened his eyes.
Everything came into such sharp focus he almost shut his eyes again to shield them from the bright light and shinning colors that assaulted him. He cracked them open just enough to see what was around him. Doctors and nurses, all dressed in bluish-green scrubs and face masks that showed only their eyes, wide and wild as they all stood around him, reaching toward him with nervous hands. Surprised, he pulled away, scrambling to his feet and staring at them in confusion. One of the doctors was on a collision course with him, but turned around at the last moment, a look of bewilderment on her face, as though she’d just forgotten what she was doing. Slowly he backed up to the wall, feeling panic rising in his chest when his eyes fell upon the bed he’d just been laying on. His mind whirled and he blinked hard, trying to clear away the image.
Someone still rested on the gurney, someone he wanted to believe he didn’t recognize; but even with the many injuries that marred the face, he knew immediately who he was looking at.
It was him, laying still and lifeless, fading slowly. He realized for the first time a sinking feeling in his chest, like something was being pulled out from the center of his heart—something important.
A soft sound, the piercing note of a machine, mechanically monitoring his heart beat, broke through his world of silence. It was faint, but he could feel the heart’s pitiful beat in his chest, like it wasn’t his own, like the boy lying on the stretcher was not him, though he knew beyond any doubt that the person he was looking at was himself. His face was bloody, his nose broken, and his cheeks covered in ugly red cuts. He was almost unrecognizable, but despite everything that was him. His face. His nose. His cheeks. His blood. He could hear voices now, faint and desperate, calling out instructions to one another. Then his own fragile breathing. The sinking in his chest was growing stronger, becoming the pain of having something torn from him slowly. He gasped for breath, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking back a step. Part of him didn’t want to leave. It was fighting back. But his body was too fragile to maintain itself. Sinking to his knees, he looked up as one high-pitched note, long and final, accompanied a flat line that streaked across a dark screen.
The pain in chest was gone, so fast he almost did not feel the relief. He tried to take in a long breath to calm himself and found that no air filled his lungs; a numb buzzing had replaced the aching in his heart.
Shouting. He shut his eyes against the sound, wishing he could block out the voices. They echoed in his empty chest, as though the words were inside him instead of hanging in the equally empty air. Slowly the noise died down to an incessant murmuring that droned on like the monotonous hum of his nonexistent heart.
“Call it,” someone said blandly.
“One fourteen AM,” answered a similarly despondent voice after a short pause. He looked up to see a nurse watching the clock with a clipboard in hand, his eyes creased with worry behind the mask.
A sharp sound cut through all the others. Someone had cleared their throat intentionally, but no one in the room showed any sign of having heard it. He scanned the expressions of the doctors quickly until his eyes landed on a familiar face. The stranger he’d noticed before was leaning against the door, his eyes concerned and scrutinizing. When the man noticed the boy’s eyes on him, he straightened and turned, jerking his head in the direction of the boy by way of an invitation, and walking through the solid white of the wall as though it was not really there. For an instant, he stood stunned, staring at the spot where the stranger had been a moment before. But then, despite his confusion, he felt himself being pulled forward, whether by curiosity or fate, he had no idea.
He reached out to grab the door handle when he reached the other side of the room, but instead of feeling cold metal against his skin, he sank right through the door just as he’d seen the stranger do. Gasping in shock, he pulled away quickly, relieved to find that his hand was still attached to his arm. Then, a little surer of himself, he tried again to open the door. But this time when he slipped right into it he allowed himself to entirely step through, finding himself standing in the corridor on the other side. The stranger stood at the far end, watching him intently, though as soon as the boy caught his gaze, he turned again and was off.
Racing now to keep up, he rushed through the halls after the man, wondering where and why they were going, or how he was even there when he knew that his body was dead on an operating table somewhere behind him. As he ran, he was surprised by the mixed feelings that assaulted him from every angle. Every room he passed brought with it a new wave of emotion—sadness, excitement, or fear—and he could sometimes see the stranger cringe a few moments before he himself would feel a particularly painful sentiment. What was happening to him?
Suddenly, the man stopped short, and as the boy caught up he recognized that they were in a hospital waiting room. Caught somewhat off guard, he looked around, trying to understand why they were there. The stranger turned toward him, his eyes full of pity.
Leaving off his scan of the room, the boy quickly said what he’d wanted to ask since he first saw the stranger.
“Who are you?” The words hung in the air and reverberated all through his chest, sounding hollow and unfamiliar.
The man blinked once and the sadness in his face deepened to reveal an expression that was almost self-loathing. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice was low and smooth and filled with regret. “I couldn’t save you.”
The boy was about to demand a more reasonable answer when someone behind the stranger caught his attention. If his heart had been more than a numb lump in his chest he would have felt it sink at the sight.
“Mom,” he mumbled. The stranger closed his eyes as if he’d just been struck, but the boy wasn’t paying attention to that. He pushed passed the man, rushing toward his mother.
“Mom!”
Her dark curls were pulled back, away from her face, and her glasses hung on a chain around her neck. It looked like she’d dressed hastily, and her phone was still in her hands. She twisted it around nervously, watching the door to the ER like her life depended on it. Even though he’d yelled it, she did not respond to her son’s call. A few feet away sat his father, his head in his hands, his wedding ring glinting gold in the florescent lights. The boy was acutely aware of the buzzing in his chest, of the lack of response this picture brought to him.
“Dad,” he whispered, trying to trigger a reaction, whether from himself, or his father, he couldn’t tell.
Suddenly, his mother jumped as the white doors swung open and her phone clattered to the floor. She did not bend down to pick it up. Slowly, his father lifted his head enough to look in the direction of the doctor who had just entered the room. Her lips were pursed together and she stared intently at a clipboard, a look of reluctance on her face as though she was not eager to share the news she undoubtedly had to. The boy wanted to rush to his mother’s side and stand between her and the doctor. He wanted to protect her from what was about to come, but he could not move any more than she could.
Clearing her throat anxiously, the doctor stepped forward, lowering the clipboard with a deliberate movement.
“Mrs. Howe?”
His mother nodded once. Almost painfully, his father stood and walked to her side, sliding an arm around her. She nearly collapsed into him, her face drawn and pale.
“Mr. Howe,” the doctor acknowledged. “I have some bad news.”
Behind him, the stranger made a strangled sound, as though he were having the same battle that the boy was. He wanted to stop what was going to be said, what had to be said.
“I regret to tell you that your son, Logan, has just passed away.”
His mother flinched like she’d been slapped in the face and her hands clutched desperately at her husband’s arm. His head dropped until it rested on hers, his shoulders slumping down in defeat.
Logan. The name seemed so empty, like it wasn’t his own. And yet, watching his mother, he wished he could muster a reaction, some kind of pain in his heart like he’d felt running down that corridor. They were feelings that weren’t his own then, but now he longed for them, for some kind of response to his mother’s suffering.
“He was hit by another car while driving on the freeway tonight at around 12:36 AM. The car pushed him off the road and into a ditch. We believe the car must have flipped several times, as well as sustained severe damage to the driver’s side where the other car hit. I’m sorry to have to tell you this.”
Silence reigned in the room for a moment and the doctor shifted uncomfortably. She looked like she wanted to say something, but no words came.
“How?” came the sudden demand from his mother, her words sharp and disbelieving. “How? Why did he die?”
“His back was broken in several places,” the doctor said in as soothing a tone as she could manage. “But that wasn’t what caused his death. He was hemorrhaging severely. There wasn’t anything we could do.”
Logan froze inside as he felt the stranger’s hand on his shoulder. He tried to shrug it off, but could already feel the effects. His vision was blurring again and a sharp jerking sensation in his stomach was lifting his feet off the ground.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger said again. “I can’t let you see any more.”
“Let me go!” he demanded, but he was half-blind already and the sound of his mother’s voice was beginning to fade. “What are you doing?”
“I…can’t,” the stranger whispered sadly, and the world disappeared.
In his last moments, Logan could see the image of his mother and father, burning in his mind even as the light began to fade. But what bothered him most was that it did not bother him. Not even a little. His heart was cold in his chest and their voices were hollow in the distance.
~*~
Questions for the reader:
- I feel like the story lost momentum after the first half. Do you feel that way? How could I improve that?
- This story is somewhat abstract. Did it make sense?
- Does the ending feel too abrupt? How could I improve that?
- Did you feel I was too repetitive?
- My intention was for this to be a very emotional/sensual (meaning focused on the senses
) piece. Was that clear? Did you connect to Logan’s emotions/feelings/senses? - Were the references to “the boy”, “the man”, and “the stranger” confusing? How could I improve that?
- Was the dialogue believable?
- What do you think of the title?
- What was your favorite part?
- Do you feel like there was a climax?
- Was it too long?
Bio Poem – J. Alfred Prufrock
J. Alfred
Despondent, standoffish, and petrified
The son of misery, the brother of loneliness, the friend or “what if?”
Lover of beauty, details, and acceptance
Who feels like a pair of ragged claws, thin, and bald?
Who needs attention and love, and to go unseen
Who fears everything gentle and kind that might turn and be vicious
Who gives cigarette butts and ash and a mindful of self-pity
Who would like to see a world without sawdust restaurants
Resident of one-night cheap hotels
Prufrock
Inner/Outer
Running, laughing, falling, leaping, and always, always moving. Raging, soothing, bubbling, changing, and somehow still the same. Cool and clear and welcoming, yet cold sometimes, and brooding. I’m a world like no other, in appearance, temperament and environment. Those who look upon me will not ever see this me again. For though I’ll be called the same, I will not be this river then. The weather chops up my waters into waves, and speeds me on my way. The animals that drink from me and make my shores their home build up a world around me, an ecosystem that I must live in and yet command. My waters are constantly varying, too, for the streams I am made of now will soon be gone, replaced by new rushing whitecaps. Rains bring me new power and speed. Rocks make my path treacherous and wild with waves high and vast. I can be musical and lovely to behold, or thunderous and awesome. Waterfalls bring me to new levels of myself and the world around me. I started as an insignificant trickle, and have swelled to a brook, a stream, a river. Someday I will be a grand watercourse that dominates the ecosystem around me and then new streams and rivers will branch off, taking from my waters, my powers, and my experiences. Then will I finally reach my destination and join the vast force of the ocean, peaceful at last after my journey.
