Tuesday, August 6, 2013


Today's word was wild.  I've gotta say, there was nothing from dawn 'til dusk that was even remotely wild in my day (except the trail of ants in my kitchen).  I gave up and thought I'd maybe double up on something tomorrow or make something up.  So I settled in to my Netflix that's been waiting a few days...

oh. my. lord.  I watched it alone.  I need a hug.

wild?  primal is more like it.  Ballad of the Sad Cafe, oddly enough, is a Merchant Ivory production.  You'd never guess it except perhaps by the music; there is no tea and definitely no rolling hills of grass with ladies in gowns.

Now, I love Carson McCullers' writing, (author of the book that inspired the movie), which is why I put this movie in my queue in the first place.  I could taste the grit of this movie from the first frame.  Filmed in 1991, setting:  rural dustbowl south, 1930's ish? early 20th century, anyway. Starring Vanessa Redgrave (whom, I never noticed before, most certainly must have sired Tilda Swinton) and Keith Carradine.  Odd movie.  The wildest of the wild was the "sleeves up, weapons down, gather the town, and fisticuffs" between man and wife.  Crazy.  Base.  Shocking.  Heartbreaking.  I won't tell the story, it's easily googled.  But I'll just say, it definitely fits today's word.

The town pastor's speech broke my heart.  I'll post it below if you're interested.  but first one other quote from the book that wasn't in the movie.

I'm emotionally drained.  Brushing my teeth and going to bed.  All my best to you!  ~ v

“A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lillies of the swamp.” 
― Carson McCullersThe Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories

“First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.

Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.

It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.” 
― Carson McCullersThe Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories

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