Crying at the Movies
A Film Memoir
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- CHF 10.00
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- CHF 10.00
Beschreibung des Verlags
"For years, I cried, not over my own losses, but at the movies. When bad things happened to me in real life, I didn't react. I seemed cool or indifferent. Yet in the dark and relative safety of the movie theater, I would weep over fictional tragedies, over someone else's tragedy."
At age nine, Madelon Sprengnether watched her father drown in the Mississippi River. Her mother swallowed the family's grief whole and no one spoke of the tragedy thereafter. Only years later did Sprengnether react, and in a most unlikely place: in the theater watching the film Pather Panchali, by Satyajit Ray.
In the fascinating memoir Crying at the Movies, Sprengnether looks at the sublime connections between happenings in the present, troubling events from the past, and the imagined world of movies. By examining the films she had intense emotional reactions to throughout her adult life--House of Cards, Solaris, Fearless, The Cement Garden, Shadowlands, and Blue--Sprengnether finds a way to work through her own losses, mistakes, and pain.
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When she was nine years old, Sprengnether's father drowned in the Mississippi River as his family watched. Later, though a poet and essayist, she couldn't put her sadness into words nor could she cry. At age 26, however, during a screening of Satyajit Ray's Pather Panchali, she wept inconsolably; she later recognized that many of the film's moments invoked her personal tragedy and encouraged her release. "It was as though the sadness I had buried when I was nine years old lay deep within my psyche," she writes, "waiting for its shadow image to appear in the dreamlike space of the movie theater." In the elegant prose of an accomplished essayist, Sprengnether goes on to explore other moments in her life in which emotion and cinema fused. Andrei Tarkovsky's Solaris reminds her of the rough spots in her romantic history, while Jane Campion's The Piano compels her to reflect on the hatred with which she viewed her stepfather. Andrew Birkin's The Cement Garden conjures up memories of her attraction to her brother, which led them to the brink of incest. Sprengnether's honesty, about the events of her life and her inadequate ways of dealing with trauma, is striking, and shows how profoundly films can speak to their viewers. In these insightful essays, even the writing itself is cinematic, as Sprengnether's memories and quick film summaries meld into one another, making it seem as if the author hasn't just seen many movies, but has actually lived one.
