The Force of Gravity

Sandra Bullock is my new favorite actress.

Two of her recent films, The Heat and Gravity, moved me deeply. One to raucous laughter, the other to tears of self-recognition.

These films show the scope of her range. She can be the uptight, straight man, the perfect foil for Melissa McCarthy’s in-your-face, share-every-single-thing-that’s-on-your-mind bravado, as she was in The Heat. And she was hilarious. She can also be the earnest scientist, a fish out of water, who just wants to finish her job and get back home to earth when tragedy strikes, as in Gravity.

My expectations for Gravity were different than my actual experience of the film, and I mean that in the best possible way. I was expecting a colder, more detached film, (It’s in space, of course you’ll feel cold and detached) a film more like 2001: A Space Odyssey, which I found epic and engrossing, but emotionally distant. Based on the trailer I also thought it would be a more straightforward drama/thriller/disaster film. We know right away that Sandra Bullock gets separated from the space station. We feel the claustrophobia and anxiety as she hurtles away from the only other humans nearby for thousands of miles.

What I didn’t expect from the film was the beauty, and the emotional journey of Sandra’s Ryan Stone.

There is beauty because of the newness and wonder of feeling like I too, was floating above the earth, gazing at its placid, blue and white swirled surface along with the astronauts. I’ve read that often when astronauts first journey into space, they are overcome with emotion, seeing the earth this way. This blue ball, so fragile and far away takes on new meaning. Seeing the world, our world, from the “God’s eye view” can be life-changing and overwhelming. Even seeing it on film in 3D was awesome and disorienting.

I have no intention of ever going to space. I wasn’t cut out for the physical challenges the training would require. I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn’t want to try, much to my husband’s disappointment, who would, I believe, go to space if he had the chance.

No, thank you. I like the earth; ground beneath my feet, trees above me, where they should be.

Sandra’s Stone has passed these tests, and made it to the space station, yet you don’t get the sense that she feels completely comfortable with this whole space thing. For George Clooney’s Matt Kowalski however, space-walking is old hat. Kowalski is calm, deadpan, and cracking jokes, as he blasts around with his jet-pack. He putters around the space station as if he’s in his den, in his robe and slippers, with a cocktail in hand.

When the dreaded space shrapnel arrives, flying faster than a bullet, upending the astronauts delicate balance of technology and luck, Kowalski is still calm and cool as a cucumber. He guides Stone through her first space disaster and then some, finally letting go of his own life to save hers. And that’s only the first 25 minutes.

The rest of the film tells Stone’s story of survival. Not only must she defy countless odds and physical dangers, she must face her own doubts and misgivings. We discover that Stone once had a daughter who died in a freak accident at a young age. Her sadness and regret from this tragedy threaten her will to live. Stone must find the strength to overcome her fears for the sake of the story she’ll tell if she makes it. Her choice is the choice to continue or not, to be or not to be, as Shakespeare put it over 400 years ago.

Bullock’s performance in these emotional moments is void of pretense, which is remarkable considering all the special effects and big budget techniques being employed to tell her story. It’s all a device, a sham, a show. We know this, but the truth of the moment wins out over the make believe, and we believe Sandra is Stone. We’re with her in the capsule making the choice with her.

I won't spoil the end of the film for those who haven't seen it yet, but I will say that it's quite the ride to the end.  

The Montague Bookmill & The Hungry Clothes

Three of the things I adore most in the world (apart from my husband and a good sandwich) are books, cats and nature. Books and nature have the ability to inspire you and take you on a journey. And cats, with their comforting sameness, (they're always waiting for you at home) make me feel safe and cozy.

The Montague Bookmill in Montague, Massachusetts may not have any cats, at least not any that I could see, but they do have an abundance of books, sunny nooks to read in, and several windows from which to view the rushing river and stately trees. There is also a café and restaurant on the premises in case you get hungry while sitting for hours looking at used books, as I did on a recent visit.

I plopped down in front of the picture book section and browsed for a couple hours. Since this a used bookstore, I didn’t find a lot of bestsellers and newest/hottest releases, but I did discover many unique and thoughtful children’s books, and a few of last year’s trendy titles. 

I’d like to highlight one of the children’s titles I picked up, The Hungry Clothes by Peninnah Schram. 

The Hungry Clothes is a collection of 22 traditional Jewish folktales. I enjoyed these stories for both their writing and their message. These tales are funny, insightful and profound. They speak to virtues like courage, cleverness, kindness, and loving family.

In college, I was introduced to Jewish literature through my Contemporary American Literature class, where we read Sholem Aleichem, Isaac Bashevis Singer and Saul Bellow. (I liked Singer’s short story Gimpel the Fool, so much that I adapted it into a one-act play and directed it for an independent study in theatre my senior year.) What I love about these writers is their ability to bring the transcendent into the everyday, and to make you feel connected to a larger story. I also like that their worlds are moral worlds. They show that there is a certain way to behave in the world, and that the best way, is for us to treat each other as human beings, flawed though we are.

Reading the stories in The Hungry Clothes reminded me of these Jewish-American writers. Similar themes run through their work as these folktales told to children. Many of these stories are very old, passed down from generation to generation, and told to children to inspire them to be brave, shrewd, and loyal. I like to think that perhaps Singer, Bellow and Aleichem were told these same stories, or some variation thereof, when they were children. And that these stories inspired their work as adults.

I guess you can never know how your story may affect the heart and mind of a child. That's why we should keep telling them.

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Getting back to the bookmill---I hope I’m able to visit it again soon. The comfy chairs, plenteous books, fresh air, and dappled light are calling me. Even without cats, it feels like home.