This is an antique door knocker that I first saw years ago, in a condo building where I have some client visits for work. I've always loved the Victorian details, and the swoony sentimentality of it. It seems so cinematic to me. Like every time I look at it, a gaggle of violinists appear spontaneously in the hallway, playing some selection from Gone with the Wind, or something. (Did that have violins? I digress...)Speaking of old filmic finds, this past weekend, while working on my house, I watched some classic love stories that I had never seen before. An Affair to Remember and The Way We Were. Have you ever seen them?
The one thing that really struck me from these archetypal love stories was how complicated all their lives were. From accidental paralysis from being hit by a car, and being too proud to admit one's own weaknesses, to being a commie in an era of the 'Red Scare,' and being forced to either lose one's self, or their beloved. Suddenly being a transguy was just par for the course.
Screenwriting is formulaic. A story in three acts, where the protagonist is continually haunted their biggest demons, and nearly loses everything *because of* who they are... It all crescendos to the pinnacle moment where our heroic lead has to face these mortal wounds, and either overcome these symbolic hurdles or get swept up in the turbines, being chewed up and spit out, even more broken and crushed by despair. Right.
When thinking about my own life in this framework, I'd make a good protagonist if my life was made into a film. Well, in that I feel haunted and like I'm often at the precipice of losing everything *because of* who I am. (How melodramatic is that?) So, I guess the question remains: At the end of the third act, will I overcome my emotional obstacles or be demolished because of them? Jeez, suddenly all this treacherous confusion seems sexy and dangerous. Do I have time to get my hair 'did' and my teeth whitened?
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