So the Oscars are on again...and they get me thinking. Beyond the glitz and the glam, beyond the self indulging proclamations, the self congratulating is recognition of art...or at least serious events that inspire art. This time last year I sat in pain watching the Oscars, crying to myself because my husband was about to leave me to go to war, my body was rebelling against me and I was on the verge of brain surgery. I couldn't think beyond one trophy, one commercial, one sparkly dress.
This year. This year I am at rest. I am in no pain. Husband is upstairs snoozing away. Kids are safe (22 month old vs. coffee table ended in a six stitch win for the table, but 22 month old is safe now). No surgeries on my calendar. And I am still annoyed by all the pomp and circumstance by these "artists". Until...until I see Werner Herzog on my screen. I feel like I have a bit of a connection with this director. It is a stretch of a connection, but it is there.
My father in law was best friends with a man named Dieter Dengler. Dieter Dengler lived an amazing life that was brought to light by a documentary by Werner Herzog called, "Little Dieter Needs to Fly". This man survived incredible odds, witnessed horrible bouts of humanity and befriended someone in my family. Then Hollywood grabbed hold of the story and made it into a Christian Bale movie called "Rescue Dawn." My father in law actually had a character in this movie (actually two-- one his first name, one our last). It is not a happy story mostly, but if you were to ask my father in law about it, he only tells of the good stuff.
The thing is, it was someones real life. It was my father in law's life. It wasn't just a story. And after the credits and all of the hype, there was still the real memories, the real scars, the real pain. I remember people like Dieter, like my father in law...I remember my pain from last year. And I guess the connection I feel with the director in the crowd of the Academy Awards is a stretch (a long, long stretch), but at least I feel something more than pain this year -- and isn't that the true goal of art? To feel something?
