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| Links to 20/31 & the 31 Vibrant Things Launch Post |
If you look carefully, my reflection is visible in this photo, inserted and absorbed into this "story." I wasn't sure how to represent today's vibrant thing but then I remembered that Ellenshaw worked in the film industry, specifically for Walt Disney.
No doubt many of us in North America count Disney as formative in introducing us to the movies; many of my generation remember Sundays at 6PM when the Disney theme song invited us to eat our ice-cream in front of the TV and watch Goofy steer that camper around that treacherous mountain yet again or watch wunderkind Jodie Foster (a favourite) escape danger while running circles around the adults.... Sure enough there's a Reddit thread exploring similar memories. These were my early experiences with film-related vibrant things, absorbed in a magic I will always be captivated by and am forever grateful exists for us all to engage with, enjoy, and be inspired by.
Despite being an introvert, this appreciation for films compelled me to minor in Drama. Dear friends, do not assume studying drama (or any of the arts) is impractical. Those courses truly helped me improve essential life-skills including speaking, listening, presenting, improvising, problem-solving and especially creative-thinking. But I especially loved scene analysis, studying text and subtext, and using it to create the behind-the-scenes props and sets—the stage craft, the art direction. Artists who arrange the locations, the sets, the props, the look, the feel, the identity of a film setting...they're creating a emotional landscape, which results in a kind of art-therapy alchemy and finally this leads me to the magic.
Film-makers create spaces and characters and ideas fundamental to pondering (even solving) the mysteries of our lives and who we are. Good films are magic, and if you pay attention, that magic is hidden in the details. And those details...details that suspend our disbelief, cause the world to slip away, immerse us, possess us, invite us to become lost and somehow also found within the story.
It's a trip, isn't it? It's why we love movies. For some, certain genres are especially effective at achieving this alchemy, but today (stay with me), I want to elaborate on this using the horror genre. You see I have a soft spot for horror. Whoa, I just flinched at my soft spot word-choice and so I googled its origin and it has something to do with a baby's fontanel AND NOW my imagination just fused that with the horror genre AND NOW I'm completely freaked out by my own thoughts.... As you may have deduced, it doesn't take much for me to be get absorbed. Sorry. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Dear friends, horror movies are particularly powerful at creating vibrant spaces; those dire landscapes are often metaphors for pervasive human struggles. One recent example is the last chapter of Danny Boyle's apocalyptic zombie film saga, 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple. Is it dark, disturbing, even deranged? Yes, but it's also a metaphor for overwhelming grief (personal and collective) and a lantern of hope in the dark emotional landscape we currently live in.
For example, a vibrant thing featured in the film is a record-player and an album that somehow survived a virus-based apocalypse in what was the UK. Do you remember Duran Duran's song, Ordinary World? It's a profound ode to loss, disguised as a 90s pop song and it's oddly perfect for a horror film. Hearing that haunting song played by a lonely man in a bunker surrounded by human bones is a nightmare, but it's also an act of defiant rebellion, an act of human perseverance, and much-needed hope in a world (our world) gone mad. That's magic. And that's what film-makers do.
If you're interested in contemplating how Ordinary World compliments the horror genre, listen to Joy Williams haunting version, lyrics included:
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