April 25, 2020
Does the beginning of a century have more hope?
I watched Legends of the Fall for the third time? No, at least the fifth or sixth. Legends played endlessly on 90’s T.V. and eased the angst and depression of most teenage boys (my favorite of these was Demolition Man).
Did we all want to be Tristan? Virile, courageous, strong, a poet of the body who did not need words, or any other medium, to express his essential nobility.
What struck me this time through the film, with more than fifteen years since the last viewing, was how harshly I judged Tristan. A man unable to walk away even for happiness and love. Tristan’s pride killed his wife. He could not live as a coward. The irony is that his actions made him a coward anyways – afraid of the judgment of men of his own internalized specter of masculinity.
I wanted an answer: could they have survived without the money? Was food at stake?
Did Alfred love Susannah, because she was Tristan? So too Samuel?
A. just arrived home in a taxi. I can see her outside the window with her two oldest friends. I hope she had the night she wanted. A reunion. Love. Connection. Nostalgia. And tomorrow M. and N. go home to Winnipeg the last couple to have not yet left.
A. rebuilds her life here in this city. What is my life? My friends? I spent two hours with P.. We spoke about race and life. We have a connection. How do we become friends? Brothers? (Only times builds brotherhood, not even love creates that kind of connection).
