The Passengers

We are all "passengers," on a journey to an uncertain future, retreating from a murky past. There's always this sensation that "we are more than our bodies," as if our bodies are simply the vehicles we use to make the trip. We can "time trip," revisit old places on the way, we can circle back to certain mile markers, we can barrel ahead in frenzied speed, or coast, or putter, trying to conserve our fuel, to extend our time on the road. We probably do all of the above at sometime or other. This weekend, the Lovely Carla and I revisted a seminal film that we originally saw together (not in 1975, probably a few years later 1978? 1979? on re-release) Michaelagelo Antonioni's (admit it the name suggests "genius!"), "The Passenger." I don't really want to review the film, except to say that orginally viewing it was one of those events that had a profound effect on both of us, brought us closer together, made us realize the beauty and mystery of the journey that we were embarked upon, and affirmed that we were lucky to be making the trip with a fellow, like-minded, traveller. It opened the door to all the essential questions, about existence, identity, uncertainty. Seeing it again, brought all this back, front and center, as if there were no "time and distance." We both walked from the theater with a sense of wonder and joy. The ultimate experience of art, for me, is a "kicking open the door," or a "breaking open the head," that destroys preconceptions, that melts certain assumptions. It is amazing a film can do such a thing. It's also quite exhilarating.