
My newest game involves pretending I am a researcher at the North Pole, in Antarctica, on the frozen surface of Mars. I am here to do field observations! (
Today, Hideous White Stuff fell from the sky.) I am quite alone. I keep in close contact with a battalion of fellow scientists through phone & text, but I will continue to be isolated from all human contact until the thaw...
After all, this
is the coldest December in many years. Or so we're being told.
###
RTT shared my sadness over Rob Reiner's death. "
The Princess Bride was my favorite movie growing up!" he told me. Which I kinda don't think is true, but I appreciated the solidarity.
Ichabod, the implacable social justice warrior, was sniffier.
I don’t want to yuck your yum, he texted,
and it is sad…and I get that celebrities and rich people mean more to us as a culture than pretty much anybody else besides friends and family…but there’s just so much including death that feels sadder and more tragic to me right now.(Yuck my yum??? I'm in ❤️
LUV❤️)
I tried explaining it to him.
No, I'm not
stanning. At least, I don't
think I'm stanning.
I don't feel like I
knew Rob Reiner. Though I do kinda feel like I stood next to him on an elevator once, and we exchanged pleasantries.
It's more like Reiner repped what I might call the consumate Boomer ethos. And I am a Boomer. His work
spoke to me. It was a far less personal conversation than the one I might have with, say, Fellini (
La Strada), or Joseph Losey (
The Go Between), or Truffaut (
Les quatre cents coups). Reiner didn't know anything about my soul. But he knew a lot about my circumstances.
Reiner was no auteur!
The only film of his that broke any kind of precedent was
This Is Spinal Tap, which more-or-less invented the mockumentary genre.
He had no signature visual style. Cinematically, you could call him a Steven Spielberg wannabe.
His films were often humorous, but then, he directed scripts by funny screenwriters, William Goldman, Nora Ephron. (Though, reportedly,
I'll have what she's having—the funniest line in
When Harry Met Sally—was a Reiner ad lib.)
But his films—more craft than art, as I say—were kind of like a series of dioramas in some great museum of Boomer Life.
###
Take
When Harry Met Sally..., which I watched last night.
I don't know whether Ichabod has ever seen
When Harry Met Sally... but I'm certain he would dislike it. Its basic thesis—Discuss: Men & women cannot be friends!—would not strike him as mischievous or playful at all, but as abhorrent. He would sit patiently through the closing credits and then announce,
Gender is an artificial concept. Which, of course, is true.
Attitudes change.
We are biased in favor of the attitudes that informed our youths (roughly defined as that time in our life when we first realized we could manifest our own opinions. For most people, that's the early 20s.)
But if personal growth is a goal, one realizes that the social/cultural matrix has evolved into a different thing than it was during our youth. And we change our attitudes.
Those early attitudes continue to
survive, though—even
thrive—in the music and movies we love.