A feast for the eyes - and a good story, too

Oscar night. Not much point in watching since we hadn't seen very many of the films. And so often, it seems as if lots of nominated films are just not to our taste, no matter how well made or well acted. I mean, "No Country for Old Men" was a fabulous piece of film-making, but I didn't like anyone in the story. That's a necessity for me, whether in films or books (and something I strive to provide my own readers - characters...people...to care about.)

So instead of watching the Oscar show - or more episodes of Burn Notice to which we are currently addicted (yes, some very complicated characters to care about) - we went to the second run cinema and saw "Hugo."

First, yes, characters to care about - a whole cast of them in the first minute of the film as the camera leads you on a chase through a train station in 1930s' Paris. The station guard with his leg brace, the woman with the dog and her portly suitor, the man in the toy shop, the cheery flower seller, the musicians, and many more, each sketched as distinctly as a master writer like Dick Francis can do in a few words. And then the eyes peering through the 4 in the great clock. The story question right there in front of you. Whose eyes and why from inside the clock?

Well done. It was a nice story. Well performed for the most part. About loss and memory. About the magic of...story! But what made the film step into magic for me was
not the story but the language of its composition.


The visual experience. The deep moody colors of the era. The deep stairways and the clicking gears and mechanics of the great clockworks. The shining eyes of the two young friends. The snow. The magical, glowing view of the city at night. The lovely precision of the small mechanical man - the automaton left by a loving father to a lonely son, which brings a mystery (and you know how I love mystery) to the tale. And I have to say that for the first time in my experience 3D really added something special.

Faults? Yes. It gets a bit wordy in ways it doesn't need to. (Don't hammer me over the head by saying things that are transmitted so beautifully by action - another word to the wise author!) A few too many shots of the young Hugo's glistening eyes. (Yes repetition is good, but a wise author will take out one too many.) I wonder if children (and there were many in the theater) love the film as much as adults seem to.

Summing up, a most enjoyable two hours.
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Mystery on an Autumn Night

Point, the first. It wasn't the candy. Honest. I liked the candy, yes, and our neighbors were generous. (Though I was never a popcorn ball fan. Yes, those were the days when some people actually made Halloween treats and gave them away.)

Point, the second. It wasn't the dressing up. We dressed up all the time to play. And by the time I lusted after the long, gorgeous blue mantilla that a friend of the family had brought from Mexico, my elder sisters were too old for Halloween and my younger sister too little to wear the mantilla, so I pretty much got it whenever I wanted to be a princess or a dancer or a fairy queen. And, oh yes, I wanted.

Point, the third. It wasn't the tricks. Please! I was a good girl with three sisters. We never played tricks (except on each other). Besides, see point, the first, above.

Then why, you ask, was Halloween second only to Christmas Eve in dreamy deliciousness to this girl who never imagined she would become a fantasy author?


It was the dark, of course. Early sunset. And even the night's magical lights, the stars and moon, could hardly push the weight of it aside. Our flashlights and lanterns certainly couldn't. We would run down the street through the piles of oak leaves, our steps pushed just a little faster by the pooled shadows just beyond the light beams. Why does darkness cause those delicious shivers?

Vincent Van Gogh said that "the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day."

Uh-huh. He knew. There's a reason I love his "Starry Night" better than his "Sunflowers."

Certainly marvelous things can happen after sunset. Unexpected visitors. Romance. Fireworks. Escapes. Rendezvous. Kisses at the front door. Or in the garden. Or while floating down the Thames. Danae dance under the autumn moon.

But, of course, the dark can hide dangers, too. Thieves. Potholes. Spiders. How often do you read about "the Light Forest?" Ghosts, invisible in the daylight, take shape against the dark. Whispers and rustling are lost in the noisy business of day, but not in the night.

And the highwayman comes riding, riding... Wouldn't have been the same if it was noon and the road was a ribbon of asphalt.

Shapes blur. Endless possibility. Uncertainty blooms...

Ah, there it is. Uncertainty and possibility create tension, the magic ingredient in any story. It's what keeps us hooked, peeking around that next corner...or page. Night's essence is mystery.

Or perhaps Lemony Snicket said it best: "It is one of life's bitterest truths that bedtime so often arrives just when things are really getting interesting."

Magic!
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