Can joy and terror co-exist?
And other pandemic-related questions films have helped me answer.
Very little has felt like it was tangibly in my grasp this year, I’m sure you can relate. I’ve gone from feeling like nothing is in my control to finally understanding that the things that are in my control haven’t changed. The journey through those two feelings and the many others the pandemic has brought on isn’t linear and that’s ok.
Truthfully, I spend most of my days in awe: in awe of the courage it takes for all of us to keep going, in awe of the generosity of the hearts in my community, in awe of films’ ability to capture a feeling I couldn’t name until it flashed across my screen.
I often have internal questions that guide the seasons of my life. Throughout the pandemic, three questions have plagued me in particular. Answers, though an ongoing pursuit, have been possible through the films that have given me the space to think through everything life has thrown my way this peculiar year.
Can joy and terror co-exist?
If Beale Street Could Talk (2018) dir. Barry Jenkins
Recently, a friend texted me about good, life-changing news and asked: “Should I celebrate this right now?” Insinuating a question that has also crossed my mind during the pandemic: ‘is joy worth relishing in, while so many people are suffering?’ I immediately responded to the tune of ‘celebrating the joy you’re owed, despite the everyday terror of the world, makes life worth living.’
This lesson is one that 2018’s “If Beale Street Could Talk”, the film I’ve rewatched the most this year, makes clear.
“Beale Street” — based on James Baldwin’s novel — names the inescapable, shared joy and terror of being Black. In the world of this film, like our own, beauty is shaped despite and because of the destruction imposed on the characters. This masterwork recognizes the terror the world brings but doesn’t relish in it. Instead, it offers a message: Love and tenderness are always urgent. They are essential to hold on to while we move through the destruction life brings. In that lens, it becomes clear that the suffering is real and life- altering but so is the joy. We cry… but we laugh. We suffer… but we love. But we… love. We love.
See also: Sister, Sister (1982), Nothing but a Man (1968), Days of Heaven (1978) and All That Heaven Allows (1955).
What makes life worth living?
Time (2020) dir. Garrett Bradley
“Time” (2020) reminds me of a lullaby: even the most unfortunate of tales can wrap us in, sing us to sleep, and carry us through. The cultural knowledge and illumination this film carries, like most lullabies, is something that must be passed on.
In a time where many of us are thinking insistently about love and dreams deferred due to the pandemic, “Time” (2020) challenges us to think and ask bigger: What is our life’s purpose… and how does love fuel that vision? The film — a heart-wrenching, poetic look at absence, resistance, and the less tangible realities of incarceration on love and family — traces Fox Rich’s decades-long effort to release her husband, Rob, from a Louisiana prison.
The dreams we web throughout life, as this film so clearly displays, can be interrupted. The loss of a job… a partner… a vision… can shake the foundation of our world. I am deeply encouraged by Fox finding work that glides her forward despite (it all). Freedom, as Fox illustrates throughout her journey, is a promise to free someone else. The promise of that pursuit makes life worth living.
To say I am deeply moved by this portrait of love and courage feels like an understatement. “Time” (2020) also has me asking myself: If you can’t name your purpose without mentioning a career or what you produce…. Is it worth having? The answer requires the courage to face yourself.
See also: Born in Flames (1983), Paris, Texas (1984), Visions of Abolition (2011), and Drylongso (1998).
Is there more to life than…. this?
A Matter of Life and Death (1946) dirs. Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger
This, in the question that’s been plaguing my mind, is the endless solitude, doom scrolling, and preparation for a tomorrow that may never come (in the way we imagine.) Seeking purpose in a moment when time has been freed from its usual containers, is a herculean task.
“A Matter of Life and Death” (1946) is a celebration of living and examines the beauty and wonder of being so.
The story opens with a British World War II fighter pilot, Peter, who establishes radio contact with an American radio operator, June, as his plane burns. The two talk and share what is seemingly his last moments alive. As he confesses his love, ("I love you, June, you are life") he jumps from the aircraft but is not picked up by the angels sent to retrieve him. He lands, miraculously, on solid ground and finds and pursues his love for June. Heaven, whimsically envisioned here as a managerial operation similar to TV’s “The Good Place”, must decide the fates of these lovers after Peter escapes death by an operational mistake.
The visually moving and topical film — which was conceived during World War II, a time like today, where death was a constant companion in people’s lives — tackles the toughest existential questions with beauty and idealism.
“Can love change the course of a life?” I ponder each time I watch it. That question comes into particular focus for me as I examine how my actions (staying home, coming into limited interactions with others) can change the course of many lives. This action, along with countless other pandemic sacrifices, is an act of love for the community. Love, like “A Matter of Life and Death” audaciously tells us, makes life’s sacrifice worth it.
The more we are searching for is in the love of community, self, and others.
See also: “Je t’aime, je t'aime” (1968) [$5 digital rental], In the Mood for Love (2000), Miss Juneteenth (2020), Sylvie’s Love (2020), and Wings of Desire (1987)
Remember: we can’t rush a happy ending, that’s not in our destiny’s plans.