Not-So Bright Leaves

If one can move beyond the nasally droll of the narrator, writer and director, Ross McElwee, one can somewhat make out the tale of McElwee's family history, the control the tobacco industry has not only on regions, but also humans and the denial of tobacco addicts. Unfortunately, for this viewer, it was hard to get beyond McElwee's voice, both physically and literally in 2003's Bright Leaves.

With a strong persona that resonates with peculiar humor and undying intrigue, McElwee can easily become the focus of the film. While it doesn't work to get across the greater meaning in the film world, his film translated into literature may work brilliantly. If it were written, we'd be able to see more clearly the structure: McElwee wants to find the truth about his family history. McElwee searches for it in North Carolina via numerous interviews. McElwee finds the truth and is "dogged." People continue to smoke. And so on.

This linearity gets tripped in the film due in part by McElwee's own meanderings, and also in part by his choice of sound and visual clips, or his editing. McElwee splays on after finding that the original film, Bright Leaves, was not about his family. He's dogged by the thought and also by...wait for it... a dog. So much so that he restarts the scene, sans dog. Were this to be edited properly, say, in a literary form, it's unlikely that McElwee would repeat the scene, once with a dog and once without.

There is also a clip in which McElwee asks an older woman (her name is escaping me) about his grandfather. He asks: "Did he have a sense of humor?" The woman responds: "Now, I don't know about that, but I do know he lost his teeth." In the scene immediately after that, he cuts to the old woman saying, "Oh look! A black cat!"

These clips do, in fact, provide great humor for some, but if this were a literal form of the story, McElwee would really have to sit with that and ponder the importance of the clips or quotes. His digression may offer humor to the film, but it makes the overall story drag. McElwee's persona may make for excellent non-fiction essays, though.

Man On Wire

The already striking imagery and thought of walking on a wire, hundreds or thousands of feet above cement, with nothing to catch a falling being, immediately draws viewers in. While the story of walking a tightrope between the former World Trade Center towers reigns supreme, Man On Wire sheds light on the cultural differences between French and Americans, and leaves us with a feeling that there is more to living than abiding rules. And perhaps abiding rules is not fully living.

One may argue that the language of Philippe alone is anything but American. Sure, French is his native language, but the way he actually speaks is luminous, creative and vibrant. When referencing his need to focus, he says he "must be cast away on the desert island of [his] dreams." These words are not from a script, nor are they practice. The sense of imagination within his word choices hints to a Parisian, laid back, let's-feel-everything environment.

What's rarer than a man willing to share his innermost captivating thoughts is a man willing to cry on-camera about his once best friend. Jean-Louis breaks down later in the film about the beauty of what they managed to pull off at the World Trade Center. He and Philippe had a volatile relationship throughout the years, and despite this, the passion for his friend and their masterpiece moves him to tears. Culturally, it is as though Europeans, especially males, are unafraid to open up and share honest emotions.

Also willing to share about a relationship with Philippe was his former girlfriend. What was striking about her treatment of the end of their relationship was that she said she knew it had to end there, and that it was beautiful. There was no analysis into why it ended, where it went wrong, how she could get him to be with her again-- classic American ponderings.

Throughout the movie, in fact, we see these European figures honor the beauty of even a single day. It is said that for Philippe, every day is like a piece of art. And after 45 minutes and eight passes on a tightrope in NYC, Philippe is asked one question by Americans: Why? He says, "There is no why." And that is the beauty of it, according to him.

On a personal level, I found this striking. As a journalism student, I've been taught to ask the how's, who's, when's, where's and why's. We must know the reason for everything. But why? After watching the film, I am left wanting to take on the mindset of a European Philippe. Perhaps I should stop questioning life, and instead listen to his words:

"Life should be lived on the edge of life...on a tightrope."

Urbana

I had my designated seat. Back. Behind the driver. My feet couldn't even touch the ground, but I always had enough leg room.

My brother was planted in the seat next to me, either chatting non-stop or asleep with his eyes half open. It's a creepy habit.

Quickly buzzing along the highway, I stared into the sky. Car rides home from Urbana were always hooded with dark, speckled skies. I spent most of the ride convincing myself I'd seen a shooting star.

Though the drive was long, dead, boring, I rarely fell asleep. WLW radio murmered in the background. Another Sunday, another baseball game. Another dull ride.

The voices were as predictable as my father's smoke drifting out the window and into the back seat. This predictability was what made such an imprint on my six-year-old brain. I could rely on three things on the drive home to Cincinnati: the choking scent of smoke, the not-so-bad scent of skunk and the constant drone of WLW commentators giving their 12 cents (not two--they never stopped talking) about the Reds game.

Though we were constantly moving forward, those night drives felt still. Calm. We had all been together as a family. I had just eaten wilted lettuce salad and Breyer's vanilla bean ice cream. My parents had played seemingly endless rounds of uchre. I'd stolen the olives from my grandpa's martini. Funny that no one had an issue with that. In fact, it was applauded, laughed at.

I wish that we could go back in time 14 years. Dad would be happier. Papaw would be healthy. Mamaw would be alive. And we'd all be driving back, full, happy, calm.