Robin: Grandma!
Sidney: Hi, honey.
Robin: Hi.
Sidney: Watcha doing?
[Robin wasn’t sure anymore, but he needed to ask something. He wasn’t used to talking to his grandmother though-.. even though he could, it always felt weird and forced. He decided he’d probably just have to be blunt]
Robin: Can I ask you something?
Sidney: Shoot.
Robin: Can we keep it a secret? I don’t want mom n’ dad to know I asked…
Sidney: I can keep a secret.
[Sidney found a sheltered spot behind a rock and patted the sand beside her; Robin had barely taken a seat before launching his question at his grandmother, catching her off guard]
Robin: Has papa ever died-.. or come close?
[Sidney blinked, blindsided by Robin’s question]
Robin: I wanna know the truth too, like.. don’t do that thing grown-ups do n’ coat everything in syrup.
Sidney: You really want the non-sugar-coated version..?
Robin: Yeah.
[Sidney squinted at Robin, unsure how to proceed. He could tell she didn’t think it was her place to tell him]
Sidney: Why haven’t you asked your father?
Robin: I don’t want to.
Sidney: He’d tell you, if you asked-.. he’d be grateful for it too.
Robin: Grateful? Why?
[Sidney sucked her teeth and buried her hands in the sand for a moment, thinking]
Sidney: Your dad and I never saw eye to eye when he was young, sometimes we still don’t-.. he didn’t trust me enough to talk to me, and I didn’t bother asking, or fixing it. It’s caused a lot of problems between us, so I think he’d appreciate you trusting him enough to ask.
Robin: It’ll upset him though.
Sidney: Well, tough-.. he can’t hide his past from you forever, he should know by now it always comes n’ bites you on the ass eventually.
[Robin frowned, feeling defensive on behalf of his father]
Robin: He wanted to tell me.
Sidney: You’ve already asked?
[Robin shook his head, earning himself a confused look from Sidney; everything was so hard to explain when you had to tiptoe around the truth]
Robin: I want you to tell me.
Sidney: I’ll tell you on one condition-.. you ask him about it too. He’ll have my guts for garters if he knew I’d told you and kept it from him. I can’t keep this particular secret, I’m afraid.
Robin: Fine.
[Sidney shook her head and sighed; she couldn’t believe she’d been talked into this nonsense by a ten-year-old]
Sidney: Yes, he almost died-.. technically he did, but that’s just a medical thing, I suppose.
Robin: Did you save him?
Sidney: No.. I was there, but I couldn’t.
Robin: Why not?
Sidney: I just couldn’t do it; I was a mess! You can’t imagine how it felt, seeing him-…
[Sidney cut herself off, not wanting to go too far-.. but Robin didn’t need to imagine how it felt, he could feel it too. He quickly swallowed the lump in his throat, desperate to know more before his brain imploded with unanswered questions and half-truths]
Robin: What happened? How’d he end up like that?
Sidney: Well…
Robin: I know about the bad stuff he used to do-.. he drank a lot, was it that? It was in a bar or something, right?
Sidney: He’s told you about that?
[Robin shrugged; his father had only alluded to such things, but Sidney didn’t need to know that, nor did she need to know what Larry had inadvertently shown him]
Sidney: Oscar had a lot of issues with drugs and alcohol when he was younger-.. it almost got the better of him that night, I think he just went too far by accident.
Robin: So, it wasn’t on purpose?
Sidney: Not exactly.
Robin: What do you mean?
Sidney: He knew the risks-.. but you really shouldn’t be asking about this sort of thing, honey.
Robin: Just ‘cause I’m little doesn’t mean I can’t understand.
[Sidney chuckled; the apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree. Robin was just as headstrong and persistent as his father]
Sidney: Maybe not, but you should be climbing trees and thinking about what’s for pudding-.. don’t worry yourself about all this stuff too much. Not yet, at least.
Robin: It’s hard not to-.. did he get better after what happened?
Sidney: For a while, then he got worse, then he got better again-.. go n’ talk to him, he’ll make you feel better about what happened. He’s had a good handle on himself for a while now; since before you were born, if I’m not mistaken.
Robin: That’s a long time.
Sidney: It sure is.
Robin: It never really leaves though, does it? Not completely.
[Sidney hesitated briefly, surprised by the depth of Robin’s understanding]
Sidney: No, not really.
Robin: Okay, thanks.
[Sidney yanked Robin back into the sand before he could run off]
Sidney: Don’t make me be the one to tell him about this-.. you talk to him, you hear me?
Robin: I hear you…
Sidney: You better! Don’t think I won’t make sure.
[Robin nodded, hastily escaping Sidney’s grasp, and her intensity. He had no choice now; if grandma Sid said she meant business, she damn well meant it]
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Peter Finch in Network (Sidney Lumet, 1976)
Cast: Faye Dunaway, William Holden, Peter Finch, Robert Duvall, Wesley Addy, Ned Beatty, Beatrice Straight. Screenplay: Paddy Chayefsky. Cinematography: Owen Roizman. Production design: Philip Rosenberg. Film editing: Alan Heim. Music: Eliot Lawrence.
What everyone remembers about Network is its prescient look at the corruption of American television news. It's not just that the rantings of Howard Beale (Peter Finch) foreshadow the diatribes of Tucker Carlson, et al., it's that where once TV news was in the hands of Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite, trusted and avuncular, it's now dominated by the glamorous and glib. But the chief problem is that recalling Network as a satire on television misses its real target: corporate capitalism. What we remember from the film is Beale's "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore," Diana Christensen (Faye Dunaway in perhaps her best performance) reaching orgasm at the very thought of improving her network's ratings, and Diana and Frank Hackett (Robert Duvall) conspiring to assassinate Beale after his ratings decline. What we should remember is that Beale's ratings decline because he decides to tell his audiences what he perceives as the truth: that they've become mere pawns in a multinational drive to subsume individuality into corporate identity. The key scene in the film really belongs to Ned Beatty as Arthur Jensen, the head of the Communications Corporation of America, the conglomerate that owns the network and that Beale has disclosed is about to be taken over by a Saudi Arabian conglomerate. In the voice of God, Jensen tells Beale, "There is only one holistic system of systems, one vast and immanent, interwoven, interacting, multivariate, multinational dominion of dollars. Petro-dollars, electro-dollars, multi-dollars, reichmarks, yens, rubles, pounds, and shekels. It is the international system of currency which determines the totality of life on this planet. That is the natural order of things today." But when Beale tries to share this epiphany with his audience, they forsake him. In other words, remembering Network as a satire on television is to mistake the symptom -- the dumbing-down of journalism (and it applies as well to print as to electronic media) -- for the disease: the cancer of corporate greed. The screenplay by Paddy Chayefsky is partly at fault for making Howard Beale and Diana Christensen and the old-fashioned TV news executive Max Schumacher (William Holden) the central figures of the film instead of Jensen. It might have been partly remedied if Jensen had been played by a figure of equal charisma to Finch, Dunaway, and Holden, instead of by Beatty, a likable character actor best known for being violated by mountain men in Deliverance (John Boorman, 1972). (That said, Beatty delivers a terrific performance in his big scene, which deservedly earned him an Oscar nomination.) In the end, Network is really a kind of nihilist satire, not far removed in that regard from Dr. Strangelove (Stanley Kubrick, 1964) in its presentation of a world without alternatives or saviors. It's an entertaining film, with wonderful performances, but a depressing one.
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@erealiae
there's a slow exhale while glancing up at him from her well used notebook, notes, and foot notes, scribbles and stike throughs littered almost every page. things she wrote down, easier to put it on a page & some ended up ripped out and crumbled up before tossed, but most got to stay right there. as if every little thought needs an outlet, and this is how she does it best. because it feels so much easier to put things into words like this. perhaps it doesn't really make sense to anyone else, but she doesn't have many friends & none she trust with her deepest thoughts, with her observations and what happens in her life. like to keep to herself, usually. until he came into her life and she feel relaxed around him. the distance she usually keep, a little smaller. click her pen before leaning forward, elbows on the table and arms crossed over one another. ❝ do you sing aswell, or just play ? ❞
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