Lovely Bones
On a rainy morning, I gathered the troops for the trip to church. Of course, through my life church has been a weekly event, but through the past couple of years - through the last 18 months to be exact, the Sunday Mass has been a little different. There's a certain anger in me that holds me from signing out loud, or getting lost in the beauty of the scripture.
Common stuff, so I'm told, but disconcerting nonetheless, but I've heard enough about religion to understand that just because I don't like the way things are going, I don't have an excuse to be unjust to God.
Still...I'm human...anger...resentment...a failure to understand.
With our weekly obligation handled, we settled in for a routine day. I caught the Yankee game, of course, but like many Western New Yorkers was in the house for the day. Too wet to handle the outdoor chores.
"I got a movie," Kathy said. "Lovely Bones."
Now I'd read the book, of course, so wasn't real excited to see the movie, knowing that it was about death. Books are always better than the movies anyway, blah, blah, blah.
Well the movie began and the creepy bastard was on the screen stalking the little girl. We know he kills her because the movie starts with that line, but watching it all, I mentioned to Kathy that I'd never been so uncomfortable watching a movie.
I wanted to scream out that shit like that shouldn't happen. I wanted to voice the fact that we should live in the world free of tragedy, especially unspeakable tragedies involving grown, perverted men and little girls.
The more the movie went on the more uncomfortable I became. From the stages of grief, through the visions of heaven, and on and on to the unsatisfying conclusion, I just wanted it to be over.
End it.
Yet like life it was something that had to be watched, had to be felt, had to be finished up.
How do you put a nice Hollywood bow on it?
Can't be done.
And mercifully, the movie ended, and I didn't feel better for having watched it. I felt the same way as I did going in. Confused, a little bitter, and somewhat angry.
But...knowing that there must be some sort of divine plan that puts characters through tragic events. Men preying on children? Death in general?
It takes longer than the hour long Mass to figure it out, doesn't it?
Common stuff, so I'm told, but disconcerting nonetheless, but I've heard enough about religion to understand that just because I don't like the way things are going, I don't have an excuse to be unjust to God.
Still...I'm human...anger...resentment...a failure to understand.
With our weekly obligation handled, we settled in for a routine day. I caught the Yankee game, of course, but like many Western New Yorkers was in the house for the day. Too wet to handle the outdoor chores.
"I got a movie," Kathy said. "Lovely Bones."
Now I'd read the book, of course, so wasn't real excited to see the movie, knowing that it was about death. Books are always better than the movies anyway, blah, blah, blah.
Well the movie began and the creepy bastard was on the screen stalking the little girl. We know he kills her because the movie starts with that line, but watching it all, I mentioned to Kathy that I'd never been so uncomfortable watching a movie.
I wanted to scream out that shit like that shouldn't happen. I wanted to voice the fact that we should live in the world free of tragedy, especially unspeakable tragedies involving grown, perverted men and little girls.
The more the movie went on the more uncomfortable I became. From the stages of grief, through the visions of heaven, and on and on to the unsatisfying conclusion, I just wanted it to be over.
End it.
Yet like life it was something that had to be watched, had to be felt, had to be finished up.
How do you put a nice Hollywood bow on it?
Can't be done.
And mercifully, the movie ended, and I didn't feel better for having watched it. I felt the same way as I did going in. Confused, a little bitter, and somewhat angry.
But...knowing that there must be some sort of divine plan that puts characters through tragic events. Men preying on children? Death in general?
It takes longer than the hour long Mass to figure it out, doesn't it?
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