12 November 2007
The art of hooking and reeling in - A tribute to Adrienne Shelly
)Published on November 12th, 2007 @ 10:51:35 am, using 1160 words, 191 views
Adrienne Shelly was a Hal Hartley fixture to me for a long time. She spoke his language - that ineffable arrangement of intoned sounds and pauses so recognizably his. The way Woody Allen and David Mamet fixtures speak theirs. She was his in a way. The way - after watching House of Games - Lindsay Crouse became Mamet’s in my mind. Now merely on loan to anything else she happens to be in.
And then one day, probably half a decade later, as I’m flipping channels, I chance upon a movie called I’ll take you there.
It takes chance to make you stop the mindless flipping without an obvious reason, especially for an unhyped movie that’s already a third of the way through. It’s a curious thing what makes you stop, what hooks you in an instant. Chance, I’m guessing. Nothing bigger. And a particularly pleasant instance of chance as it turns out to be a movie written and directed by none other than Adrienne Shelly herself. Hal Hartley’s Adrienne Shelly, taking a stab at creating a language of her own.
Creating a language of your own is quite a task. It requires, first and foremost, something to say, something unique or useful to add to the two hours it takes for the rest of us to watch a movie or however many days or weeks it takes for the rest of us to get through a book. Creating a language of your own requires a perfect blend of words and meaning. That old balancing act between seducing words into saying what you mean and agreeing to give them meaning beyond what they say. That, of course, topped with the cherry of a personal touch. The detail that’ll make it unmistakable.
For any such concoction to amount to anything worth digesting, chance is often called into action.
Chance is everywhere. When chance hands you something to mull over - namely a concoction of words and meaning that hits home or merely rings a bell - the search for a context is likely to be set in motion. The thought that something else (other than coincidence) might have been at work is likely to cross your mind. Often, what you ultimately take from a movie you don’t choose but merely chance upon and the significance of whatever that may be (whether a line or a facial expression or a theme) becomes your reason for acknowledging the possibility that movies can choose you just as you choose them. It’s a lovely feeling - knowing that just maybe… things are on the lookout for you as much as you are on the lookout for things. It doubles the likelihood that moments of recognition will take place. Moments that make you heave a sigh of belonging, moments that make you think ‘There I am’ or ‘That could’ve been said to me.’
I’ll take you there left me two such lines to mull over, and to sketch on myself as a permanent internal tattoo. A note to self, an invisible reminder. Something you own without having to own it.
The first line, while not in the best of contexts, shook me awake…
- Bill, have some more wine…
- No, I have to drive…
- Bill… didn’t anyone ever teach you just to be where you are?
Oh, that stirring little truth, unarguably there…
A truth you could very easily detach from that scene, apply to whatever context suited you best and be left with the same expression of realization that came over the character’s face and simply became it, as no other expression could. How to be in the present? That’s a question that follows us even before we realize it’s at our heels. Always looking back on a memory, or ahead to minutes, weeks, years from now. Never quite being where we are.
The second line, from the following exchange:
- We’re responsible for each other.
- Look…
- No, I mean, all of us. We’re responsible for one another, for what we do to one another… Yeah, of course we should all be capable of looking out for ourselves but, still… we’re responsible for each other. You are responsible. You had so much contempt for me that night. It does something to you, you know, to look at someone, to listen to someone who has so much contempt.
- That’s the time to say ‘Good night.’ Goodbye. I never wanna see you again, you creep!
- No! That lets you off, that makes you believe it’s fine to be cruel. And it isn’t and it wasn’t.
When she was murdered in November of last year, Adrienne Shelly (no longer linked to Hal Hartley in my mind, instead very much her own) was working on a movie called Waitress. Another quirky offering I got to see for the first time about five weeks ago. Not out of curiosity piqued by the tragic circumstances surrounding her untimely death (which might be the natural motivation for most, since she wasn’t exactly a household name), but for those lines from I’ll take you there. For the admiration that they inspired in me. Just to see what else she had to say, what else that mind had in it to bring to life, to contribute. And this is what I found…
Dear baby, I hope someday somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that’s all they do. They don’t pull away. They don’t look at your face. They don’t try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight without an ounce of selfishness to it.
Another hug for my list of favorites. One that for some reason hit home more strongly than the rest. Listening to that voice-over was like looking at something I had and finally seeing the gift in it. Like looking at an object on your night table and watching as the red ribbon tied around it suddenly became visible.
Amidst the quirkiness I will always see as her trademark, there are the unusual contexts she created to hold moments designed to move and awaken. Like polka-dotted oyster shells. There is her ability to fill outrageous contexts with truth, to place insightful words onto the lips of a swearing grandmother, to get you to look kindly at an affair between a pregnant woman and her obstetrician, to make you feel for a controlling husband, to startle you in the same lighthearted way a spit-take would and then guide you towards grasping the humanity behind it. There is her knack for blending oddness and words that work as wake up calls, both personal and universal. There is her priceless contribution of helping you reach a better understanding of the mistake-riddled paths that lead us towards clarity and strength… then freedom… then happiness.
Click here for another favorite line from Waitress.
This post is the creative work of Iris Watts Hirideyo and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
Hal Hartley, Woodey Allen, David Mamet, chance, curiosity, untimely death, expression, present, responsibility, contribution, hug
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