There are certain film scenes and moments that always make me weep. It doesn't matter how many times I've seen the films in question or how familiar I am with the particular scene. My response is automatic, completely out of my "control". I imagine we all have such scenes. Perhaps some of yours overlap with mine.
As a seventh grade teacher, I probably taught Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird over a hundred times. Every time one of my classes finished the book and completed whatever wrap up assignment I had devised for them, we would celebrate by watching the movie in class. And every time Scout turns to the wall in Jem's room and says so matter-of-factly, "Hey Boo," I weep. I guess it's the depiction of that beautiful innocence, exemplified by both Scout and Boo, to which I and my tear ducts react. To this day I never tire of that film and especially that scene.
As I have mentioned in an earlier post, one of my favorite movies is Tornatore's Cinema Paradiso. There are many scenes in that brilliant film that "grab" me, but most of them cause delight and laughter. When young Toto is told by his mentor, Alfredo the projectionist, to project the film onto the ancient walls of the city so that those without tickets will be able to watch, I can often feel the tears rising. But the scene that knocks me out each and every time is at the end of the film when the adult Toto, now a successful director himself, watches the bits and pieces of old, spliced film that his wonderful friend bequeathed to him. The images projected are all the love scenes that the Church had prohibited the old rogue from displaying. Toto weeps as he remembers his old friend, Alfredo, and so do I. Every time.
Although I have only seen The Artist once, and that very recently, I know that there is one scene in particular that will cause the waterworks to flow freely every time I watch this brilliantly conceived masterpiece. It occurs near the end of the film. I don't want to spoil it for those of you who have not as yet had the pleasure of watching this fine movie. I have a feeling that those who have seen it know the segment I'm referring to. John Goodman himself thought the scene was "perfect"!
Elia Kazan's beautiful film On the Waterfront has several scenes that are tearworthy. The classic backseat conversation between Terry Malloy (Brando) and his brother Charlie the Gent (Rod Steiger) comes very close. The resignation in Brando's voice when he says (about his being a bum) "Let's face it," is heartbreaking for sure. But I bawl at another scene. When Malloy walks down to Johnny Friendly's waterfront hangout and challenges him, all of the self respect and dignity that had eluded him in his life returns with a few quick body punches. Despite being pummeled by Lee J. Cobb and his henchmen, Malloy can finally stand on his own two feet, a natural, free man. Combine that visual with Leonard Bernstein's brilliant score and I am a piece of very wet toast.
Here are a few other quick looks at scenes that get me every time:
when Oskar Schindler bemoans the fact that he could have done much more...
when Randall P. McMurphy announces the World Series sight unseen...
when the old Pvt. Ryan returns to the Normandy cemetery...
when Forrest Gump asks Jenny if their son is smart...
when Toy Story 3 starts, ends, and everything in between...
Finally, let me end this piece with my all-time champ. Saying I weep every time I see this scene is not quite accurate. I cry. I choke. I bawl. My nose runs. My breath spasms. My hands shake. The lump in my throat practically explodes.
At the end of Field of Dreams, one of the sweetest movies of all time, Ray Kinsella, played wonderfully by Kevin Costner, chokes back tears as he asks his returned-from-the-dead father, "Hey, Dad, want to have a catch?" I'm actually crying as I TYPE this!
The reasons for my strong reaction to this scene range from the brilliant way the story has lead to this point, the yearning in Costner's voice, and the music that accompanies it; however, sitting above all that is my own story, in particular my own complicated relationship with my father. All that personal history conspires to make that scene remarkably powerful to me. It's a great, great cry.
Some people who are very dear to me are experiencing tears of a different sort these days, tears that are every parent's worst nightmare. Here's hoping that those tears flow beautifully and freely for as long as necessary.
Ain't life grand?
J
No comments:
Post a Comment