Tonight I saw "Amour," the French/Austrian film nominated for Best Picture, Best Actress, and Best Director. I've seen many, but not all, of the films nominated this year and I'm sure that "Amour," despite its nominations, won't receive any Oscars although it should--at least a "Best Actress Oscar" for Emmanuella Riva. The film is far too realistic to appeal to American Academy voters who want at least some sugar in even the most brutal of films. The performance of Riva is the most moving and terrifying performance of any I've seen in decades. We watch as she has a stroke in her mid-80's and then her rapid deterioration as she ages before our eyes. And we also watch her husband, Georges, take care of her, bathing, feeding, wiping.
I'm writing this blog because when I returned home I looked up the critical reviews of "Amour" on Rotten Tomatoes. The film received 95% positive reviews, which is rather amazing, but even more amazing to me were the green tomato reviews by professional critics who call it "bitter, pitiless, self-indulgent."
The film should be required viewing for any of us who expect to live into old age, and most of us do. Most Americans (and I can only speak for Americans) refuse to acknowledge their aging and mortality, assuming that some how if they eat their greens and grains, lift weights, and take vitamins they will live to a ripened age and when death comes it will be quick and painless. Those, like me, who have lived with the dying over a period of time as I did with my late husband, who died of pancreatic cancer at 57, or my mother at 88 of a heart condition, recognize our mortality. We also know that no matter how we try to manage our deaths (storing up unused pain killers or sleeping pills) that the odds of escaping the ugliness and pain of aging and death are against us. Some manage no doubt, but most don't, at least not in a society which views the end of life as a never-ending occasion for medical intervention. Even those of us who have made end-of-life wills may not be in luck. In the film, Anne (played by Riva) never goes into a coma so, under American law at least, she would be forced to die slowly with pain and indignity, and without intervention.
I know the film and this blog may strike many as depressing--at best. But despite the painful reliving of scenes that I experienced in my own life, I found it very beautiful. It is appropriately named "Amour" as it represents the love of Georges for Anne, even to the end as he holds a pillow over her mouth until her frantic struggles to breath subside. I can only hope that some day I also will have a Georges at my side.
Faith, hope, and love abide . . . but the greatest of these is love.
No comments:
Post a Comment