Fahrenheit 9/11
Last week I wrote that I had gotten a reply from a columnist, but didn't name him. Doesn't matter any more, here it is:
Sent: Saturday, June 19, 2004 6:40 AM
To: Vicky X-X
Subject: RE: So far, Bush's loyalties outweigh VP's liabilities
Dear Ms. X-X: You should go to a few weepy movies, if you find yourself crying over newspaper columns about Dick Cheney. Seriously, I really appreciate the kind words and your taking the time to write. Best regards. Walter Shapiro
I laughed when I read that. The last movie that made me cry was probably Bambi, and I was probably five or six at the time.
Until today. My husband and I just got home from the 1:00PM showing of Fahrenheit 9/11 at the AMC 14 on Santa Monica Blvd. (Last weekend I had won the door prize at my school staff's annual end-of-the-year party for answering the question What has four i's but can't see?--a $16 AMC certificate--so we didn't even have to pay. That may not sound like a big deal, but John had recently sworn he would never go there again, and only the free tickets made him persuadable.) Everything was heightened--people were lined up for miles trying to get into Bill Clinton's book-signing at Brentano's, just a few feet from the movie ticket windows. Reporters were interviewing an old lady in a wheelchair who was at the head of the line, and had probably been there all night.
But I don't really care much about Clinton, even if TIME does print my predictions for his funeral. Back to 9/11.
The part of our brains that responds to images is much older than the part that responds to language. Everybody understands the implications of this on some level. But never in my life has something not directly personal hit me like this movie. Forget "I laughed, I cried..." At one point the person on my right, a Jewish kid about 19 and a total stranger to me, said, "Are you OK?" I tried to nod gamely. And then, a little later, I started to stand up because the urge to scream was getting hard to control. Instead, I put my head on my knees and closed my eyes.
Although there was nothing in the film that surprised me, or was new to me, I wasn't prepared for the emotional impact of seeing it all--on a big screen.
Bye-bye, Mr. Bush. Have fun "clearing brush" on your Texas ranch for the rest of your life.
Sent: Saturday, June 19, 2004 6:40 AM
To: Vicky X-X
Subject: RE: So far, Bush's loyalties outweigh VP's liabilities
Dear Ms. X-X: You should go to a few weepy movies, if you find yourself crying over newspaper columns about Dick Cheney. Seriously, I really appreciate the kind words and your taking the time to write. Best regards. Walter Shapiro
I laughed when I read that. The last movie that made me cry was probably Bambi, and I was probably five or six at the time.
Until today. My husband and I just got home from the 1:00PM showing of Fahrenheit 9/11 at the AMC 14 on Santa Monica Blvd. (Last weekend I had won the door prize at my school staff's annual end-of-the-year party for answering the question What has four i's but can't see?--a $16 AMC certificate--so we didn't even have to pay. That may not sound like a big deal, but John had recently sworn he would never go there again, and only the free tickets made him persuadable.) Everything was heightened--people were lined up for miles trying to get into Bill Clinton's book-signing at Brentano's, just a few feet from the movie ticket windows. Reporters were interviewing an old lady in a wheelchair who was at the head of the line, and had probably been there all night.
But I don't really care much about Clinton, even if TIME does print my predictions for his funeral. Back to 9/11.
The part of our brains that responds to images is much older than the part that responds to language. Everybody understands the implications of this on some level. But never in my life has something not directly personal hit me like this movie. Forget "I laughed, I cried..." At one point the person on my right, a Jewish kid about 19 and a total stranger to me, said, "Are you OK?" I tried to nod gamely. And then, a little later, I started to stand up because the urge to scream was getting hard to control. Instead, I put my head on my knees and closed my eyes.
Although there was nothing in the film that surprised me, or was new to me, I wasn't prepared for the emotional impact of seeing it all--on a big screen.
Bye-bye, Mr. Bush. Have fun "clearing brush" on your Texas ranch for the rest of your life.
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