The film Bright Leaves was an intersting though obviously tainted work in the sense that the filmmaker is obviously quite biased from the begining. There is a lack of objectivity that is made very apparent in the begining when the director learns of an old hollywood movie portraying his great grandfather. What struck me from the begining and what he never seems to be capable of appreciating until the very end when he meets the wife of the author of the book upon which the movie was based is the fact that just because Hollywood made a movie about something, does not make it true.

I found the fact that this came as a great shock to him be...well, very shocking. Hollywood is utterly notorious for dramatizing things that are otherwise not very dramatic and especially for taking liberties with historical facts that would not otherwise make for an entertaining movie. Still, while this is a fault on the part of the filmmaker in the documentary, it's a very human fault to have. He is clearly desperatly attached to this romantic notion of his otherwise virtuous great grandfather who was run out of buisness by a greed and unscrupulous competitor. As non-fiction goes, its very frank and very honest.

The film Man on Wire was certainly a compelling look at a human being's desire to live out a dream, regardless of the risk and the cost. Insofar as the film relates to nonfiction writting, we see a clear progression of events that start with the main character learning of the construction of the World Trade Center twin towers and realizing, in that same moment, that he wants nothing in this life so much as to walk a tight rope between the two towers after they are constructed. We see the order of events play out in a clear and concise manner, and are given a clear sense of resolution at the end.

Childhood Rumblings

The sound of the boat motor.

It seems so terrible to reduce an otherwise enjoyable and wonderful childhood experiance to a single, decidedly unromantic noise, but there it is.

A day spent with my parents, my little brother and my uncle (really just my dad's best friend) on a speed boat up in Michigan. The sun shinning down on us as we threw the frisbee, swam in the water and enjoyed a picnic together all combine to form, if I may borrow a cliche, the recipe for a perfect day.

But for so much of the rest of our perfect day, it seemed like all I could hear was the incessant rumbling of the boat motor roaring in my ear over the breeze in my face. My parents and my uncle were talking of course; laughing the whole time, but this too seemed drowned out by that unflinchingly cruel boat motor.

So many other details about that day seemed blurred to me, but I can still recall the horrible roar of the motor in my ear. I've since been around a lot more boat engines, including my dad's. The sound no longer even registers to me. I even enjoy listening to the sound of a car engine revving up on the road. But for a young boy who just wanted to swim in the beach and spend the day with his Uncle Ray, the sound of a boat motor could muffle the sound of a world.