Melancholy

I cannot rave enough over the David Cronenberg's EASTERN PROMISES. I'd read the hype--a masterpiece. And yes, it is in EVERY sense of the word. It was--and I don't use this lightly--perfect. Every performance. Every plot twist. And most of all, the air of melancholy.

You see, part of what made this film brilliant was its mood. The Russian mob was ruthless, but much of the picture takes place in a restaurant called Trans-Siberia, frequented by Russians living in London. The old women visiting it, the Russian families, reminded me of my father's family. In fact, one character reminded me SO much of my late uncle that it was difficult to pay attention to anything else. From how they combed their hair, to what they ate, to how they carried themselves. (Americans are very "open" in their body movements; Russians very spare and closed.) I saw bits of my family on the screen--the old family. The way they carried grudges to their GRAVE. One uncle in my family didn't forgive another because there was an "incident" with stolen gold coins. Who knows it it was ever even true. That one went to the grave. Viggo Mortensen's character spent time in Siberian prisons, and I still remember my grandmother taking out a photo of my cousin and his wife, both almost classically Russian--black turtlenecks, black hair, stoic faces. "What became of them?" I asked. "Exiled to Siberia," was the response. Like out of a movie. THIS movie. Viggo played with worry beads. My grandmother had worry beads, and I was given a set as a child (which much to my angst, have long been lost).

But above all, it was the MOOD. Violins in the saddest and most melancholy of tunes drifts over EVERY scene, casting a pall. And THAT was very familiar. Which brings me back to writing. First, I have blogged here before about clans. Stereotypes abound about every single ethnic group. And yet, within each ethnic group, you will find people that perfectly fit the stereotype. The Russians in this movie were as real as any I have ever seen, and yet there were elements of stereotype--the ever-present vodka, the boisterousness and face-slapping when drunk, the kisses on both cheeks. In order to use things like this in writing, I think you have to get the details just so. An INSIDER can use them. A person who researches extraordinarily well can use them. But the details have to be just right. The vodka coupled with the stance. The knuckle-slapping grandma in The Roofer. But slapping out of impatience and love. (I wasn't learning my Russian well enough.) And by the way, I can't WAIT for my father to see this flick.

And then the mood. The air of melancholy drfiting over this group. It is a Russian trait. You need only look at the landscape of Siberia to "get" it. But how as a writer can you capture it? It's the subtlety of dialogue. The glass is ALWAYS half-empty to a Russian (in my world, at least) ,and it comes through in EVERY single statement. Every one. There is NO optimism. None. Zippo. God only exists to punish--if he exists at all. He created a fallen world, emphasis on fallen and corrupt and evil as the Communists in the Revolution. There is no room for a "Happy" birthday. No occasion that cannot be ruined by a comment of doom. That sound? The other shoe dropping--ALWAYS. You see? The mood and pallor of The Roofer was relentless. There is no let-up unless you leave the clan. None. You don't get a respite. If you want to create melancholy, every slice of dialogue must carry it through. The same can be said for ANY mood. Anger. Angst. Depression. You must be faithful to the world you are creating. It't not, as some writers and films do, to set a scene and then it's forgotten. Be faithful all the way through. Let the violins weep through every scene.

Thoughts?