When I was a little kid, I watched a lot of shit, absolute piss-poor movies. When the great comedian Robin Williams assessed his life situation and saw that an array of terrible circumstances was sufficient reason for him to erase his map (been reading Infinite Jest, how appropriate, since DFW erased his own map), I watched a few of his big hits with friends in his memory. One of the lesser know, not-at-all-hits, was Bicentennial Man, a steaming hunk of cinematic garbage that is so cloying you almost want to like it. But the minute a character refers to "DNA Elixirs" you simultaneously sciggle (scoff and giggle) and reach for the remote. But not all my childhood movie revisits were like this.
A couple of days ago, I watched Heart and Souls starring Robert Downey Jr. in the midst of his drug frenzy. The cinematic equivalent of thick, gloopy fondue, it depicts four souls who died in a swingin' 50s bus crash who get attached to a newborn and follow him through his childhood. When their presence ends up ostracizing this little kid (who acts like a damn weirdo what with ghosts chilling by him all the time), they decide to disappear, but keep watch of him. The kid grows up to be a cynical RDJ, working for some business. The bus driver who caused their deaths drives his bus down from heaven and tells them they gotta go be angels and help god clean out his storage locker. They were supposed to use RDJ as a vessel to resolve their unfinished business, but Busman McGee neglected to mention that fact. So to save face, he gives them time to do whatever it is they needed to do that kept them from ascending into the spheres. They reappear and convince Junior that he needs to help them get their shit together. There's singing, slapstick, RDJ doing an impression of Alfre Woodard, and B.B. King. And I loved every second if it.
I mean to say this because watching Heart and Souls has a certain profound relevance to my life right now. In fact, that main thing that I loved about it as a kid was that it assuaged my constant fear of change. The scene where the Ghosts wake up little Thomas to tell him they need to leave is heartbreaking. He cries "Don't go. You're my friends. Please, don't go. Come back" while they individually say goodbye and fade into transparency, leaving him sobbing helplessly in his empty room.
I just graduated college, and I needed that scene of Robert Downey Jr. inexplicably being able to touch Kyra Sedgewick and hug her just as she boards the bus to heaven, the last of his phantom friends to leave once and for all.
This year I got to intern at the Washington University Film and Media Archive to inspect films and put on the 2016 Rawstock. On my last day, they bought me Mexican food and baked me cookies, casually saying goodbye and cracking jokes as I left them for good in a Laundromat parking lot. Later that day, my favorite professor, Dennis, made a better speech in my sixth class with him than any one of the speakers at my commencement. It was so good that I won't sum it up into my own words. All I'll say is I had to hold back tears when I shook his hand and he said "sorry there couldn't be a seventh".
My other favorite professor asked me to write for him at Playback:STL at the end of my penultimate semester, and I got to be a real film critic. Shortly after, he stepped down from his position to advance in his teaching career.
When I moved for the first time at four-years-old, I was completely potty trained. But by the time we settled into the new house, I didn't stop wetting the bed until I was twelve. I never was good with change.
What else is there to say? I'll miss all of you. And yet, I feel I've finally gotten to hug Kyra Sedgewick before she got on the ghost-bus. I went to a party after commencement full of people I don't know but saw at my time at Webster. I talked to a guy who was in my Freshman seminar. I got a degree. I started reading and watching movies on my own volition again. I'm writing in my blog again. I enjoyed commencement, mainly because the Provost kept saying Master of Farts instead of Master of Arts. I've come to see how much you've all touched my heart and made me better for it. I now know the meaning of it's better to have loved and lost.
You see, it's not about accepting the loss. The loss still hurts each and every day. But the way we know it's better is that when an archangel comes down and offers to erase our memories of lost loves, to make them disappear from existence as if it never happened, we unequivocally know the answer will be no.
-Nic
