today I finished revising my third book - although only one has been self published yet - and sent it to my dear loved lovely beta readers Beate and Enid.
And today, an exceptionally warm August day in Rio, I watched the third part of my beloved 'Befores' trilogy. I had already read a lot about Before Midnight , heard a lot, but nothing is like watching it.
My romantic young adult years loved Before Sunrise with all my being, thinking: 'Oh, wow! I want an adventure like this!' From a girl living in small Rio de Janeiro town almost forgotten in time and space when the 90's started, meeting a guy in a train in Europe and letting myself fall for his cheesy lines, stepping out of said train to spend a night wandering Vienna was such an adventure that it couldn't even have limits, edges.
My depressed underemployed overwhelmed Balzaquian self watched Before Sunset with difficulty to contain the erratic heart beatings meeting a dear one from the past a decade in the future brought. The pull of the unknown combined with the anxious curiosity for sunnier days to come - often quenched in stupid fortune tellers' appointments - made me crave the oportunity to throw it all to the wind. Starting over, from scratch, betting all your money on a promise from the past still has power over me, btw.
My mommerish new-found-writer tipping over the edge thirty-nineish self is sighing uncertain of how much I did like Before Midnight . I did, it's perfect because it is life: unperfect, messy, confuse. Julie Delpy looks 40 just as I am very sadly looking 40ish. Ethan Hawke looks haggard and thin, like he has been carrying a lot of weigh on his shoulders. And often times he looks better than she does.
And the problem is exactly that: I relate too much to these movies. I read somewhere that they picture a generation and blah, blah, blah but the other two were dreamy to me. This is one is the raw reality.
I am married to my Jessy - or Mr Darcy - for 16 years + and we have been through rough patches, also effing good moments but both of us would like things to be better or different in many levels. And we fight. And we give ourselves another chance.
Celine may be the Fucking Mayor of Crazy Town as Jessy accused her of being, and you know what? I'm the sherif. When their fight went out of proportion I caught myself thinking that she was over reacting to something that I could not put a finger on, but that I was sure was going to be explained. When it was, it was me...
The guy had time to write, take long strolls under the olive trees and chat with his fellow literate friends. She had been spending the days making dinner, squirting sunscreen on the girls, bffing his son. When he says he saw her frolicking on the beach and pushing greek salad down her throat I thought: I'm gonna cry.
Anger, overwhelming frustration, rage and a need to fight back. Celine says she arrives home from work and babysit, work and babysit, work and babysit. Me, me, me...
And then I saw that on this movie, they are mostly trapped. In the car, having lunch, hotel room. The other movies, they wandered, free and aimless. See where I'm getting?
It ends as a loving couple's fight ends: giving a second chance. I guess I needed them to show me the way.
In reality, I need time to digest this movie as I did after the other two. From sunset I need almost a week... A movie hangover.
Where's my Chilean wine?
|Can I have a six pack, please?|
Disclaimer: all images are Google and excuse me, I'm hangover.