The first few shots of the movie take place in what seems like the modern day.
The light is harsh and all too realistic-like. The woman shuffles around his house. You can't tell who they are to each other yet. Is that his daughter? His maid? His nurse? She might have been cuter when younger, but a lot of her sparkle has been worn away until her inner color has been smoothed over like a piece of seaglass.
She prepares his medications. Trying to grind and administer according to notes she can't quite make out. She is disgusted by the mouse dropping and bugs and general flith of it all. She can't find the silverware and none of the plates are clean.
This is not her house.
When he first saw her, his eyes sparkled with recognition. She was trying to hide the shock she felt, seeing his bed in the living room. He was mobile and could move around, but it appeared he didn't do it often.
She does not have to be there. She's waiting for the man she used to know.
==
She saw his favorite light blue guitar in the music room. Exiled.
She picked it up and held it like a distant relative. Strummed the strings. Out of tune. Neglected. Reminded her of that scene in Breakfast at Tiffany's where Audrey Hepburn reveals that George Peppard is lying. He hasn't been writing/typing at all lately. There's no ribbon in his typewriter. There's no harmony in his (PT's) music.
No hiding the fact she was too nosy for his taste. Propped it up close enough to his bed, just close enough for him to reach it.
He glared at her. His memory of music was divorced from this present moment of ill health. Music was about joy, about the exactitude of notes, the clarity of sound. He had always been jealous of her vocal tone, untrained and free, it was nevertheless lovely and easy for her. Her voice was beautiful, like a river, sometimes wild and reckless, uncontained. Joy personified, flowing cleanly like wine, sweet like (apple?) juice in the sunlight. Her berry notes.
He had notes clearly on the page. But couldn't rely on his body, ever really, to do what he wanted it to do for him. The notes from his throat were unreliable, he liked the accuracy of manipulating something with his hands. He used to be so baffled that she couldn't read music, didn't know the notes by just reading them off a page, like words. So automatic for him, like breathing.
His body was weak for sex, for alcohol, evil intentions against all his purest thoughts.
Instruments, he could control. Basketballs, driving cars, piano, flute drums, anything he picked up he could pick up.
Now in this unsettling old age, everything had betrayed him. He was choosing to be alone, and to put everything down. He wanted everything to be quiet, to stop whirling. He had images of clarity of the notes, of how amazing music was. But parts of his brain had left gaps, like blown up bridges on the tracks he had lain down (!!!)
His mind was clouding over.
He startled/started when he heard her strum his guitar. Something stirred. He had forgotten the moments of music he used to live inside. All those solos which had taken him to another level of orgasm; his mind remembered he had liked it, that these were amazing moments. But even the memories of the memories were gone.
When had he put down the guitar? Why? Was that why he was dying? Was it due to a lack of music, or was the silence a result of the sickness. He had just lost the instinct for music. And it was further from him every moment.
==
He wanted to ask her to find her treasure. He remembered hiding it behind their album. Handsnaps and Fingerclaps. "Go get it," he'd say, sometime after dinner. And she'd say there was a jewel box behind it. Something that looked like it would contain a ring.
When had he planted it there? Wasn't she supposed to come back into his life? After that last tour with the Boys. She was too busy with her own life to come visit his.
But she had entered it, uninvited. Found the boxes of old, unsold CDs, sheets of music. Broken glass. Something from a fury or a drunken rage. Or neglect.
If she could find his guitar, she could find their album.
(Hymn #482: "I will lift the cloud of night"-HA eclipse!! "and the high place I will bring down")
The light is harsh and all too realistic-like. The woman shuffles around his house. You can't tell who they are to each other yet. Is that his daughter? His maid? His nurse? She might have been cuter when younger, but a lot of her sparkle has been worn away until her inner color has been smoothed over like a piece of seaglass.
She prepares his medications. Trying to grind and administer according to notes she can't quite make out. She is disgusted by the mouse dropping and bugs and general flith of it all. She can't find the silverware and none of the plates are clean.
This is not her house.
When he first saw her, his eyes sparkled with recognition. She was trying to hide the shock she felt, seeing his bed in the living room. He was mobile and could move around, but it appeared he didn't do it often.
She does not have to be there. She's waiting for the man she used to know.
==
She saw his favorite light blue guitar in the music room. Exiled.
She picked it up and held it like a distant relative. Strummed the strings. Out of tune. Neglected. Reminded her of that scene in Breakfast at Tiffany's where Audrey Hepburn reveals that George Peppard is lying. He hasn't been writing/typing at all lately. There's no ribbon in his typewriter. There's no harmony in his (PT's) music.
No hiding the fact she was too nosy for his taste. Propped it up close enough to his bed, just close enough for him to reach it.
He glared at her. His memory of music was divorced from this present moment of ill health. Music was about joy, about the exactitude of notes, the clarity of sound. He had always been jealous of her vocal tone, untrained and free, it was nevertheless lovely and easy for her. Her voice was beautiful, like a river, sometimes wild and reckless, uncontained. Joy personified, flowing cleanly like wine, sweet like (apple?) juice in the sunlight. Her berry notes.
He had notes clearly on the page. But couldn't rely on his body, ever really, to do what he wanted it to do for him. The notes from his throat were unreliable, he liked the accuracy of manipulating something with his hands. He used to be so baffled that she couldn't read music, didn't know the notes by just reading them off a page, like words. So automatic for him, like breathing.
His body was weak for sex, for alcohol, evil intentions against all his purest thoughts.
Instruments, he could control. Basketballs, driving cars, piano, flute drums, anything he picked up he could pick up.
Now in this unsettling old age, everything had betrayed him. He was choosing to be alone, and to put everything down. He wanted everything to be quiet, to stop whirling. He had images of clarity of the notes, of how amazing music was. But parts of his brain had left gaps, like blown up bridges on the tracks he had lain down (!!!)
His mind was clouding over.
He startled/started when he heard her strum his guitar. Something stirred. He had forgotten the moments of music he used to live inside. All those solos which had taken him to another level of orgasm; his mind remembered he had liked it, that these were amazing moments. But even the memories of the memories were gone.
When had he put down the guitar? Why? Was that why he was dying? Was it due to a lack of music, or was the silence a result of the sickness. He had just lost the instinct for music. And it was further from him every moment.
==
He wanted to ask her to find her treasure. He remembered hiding it behind their album. Handsnaps and Fingerclaps. "Go get it," he'd say, sometime after dinner. And she'd say there was a jewel box behind it. Something that looked like it would contain a ring.
When had he planted it there? Wasn't she supposed to come back into his life? After that last tour with the Boys. She was too busy with her own life to come visit his.
But she had entered it, uninvited. Found the boxes of old, unsold CDs, sheets of music. Broken glass. Something from a fury or a drunken rage. Or neglect.
If she could find his guitar, she could find their album.
(Hymn #482: "I will lift the cloud of night"-HA eclipse!! "and the high place I will bring down")
