[1/26/03, revised]
I'm watching the Seventh Seal; a friend got it for me.

We saw it together once, many years ago.

I was 17 or 18, I think. I lived with my mother in rather modest accommodations. It was a three bedroom house, roomy enough for 8 people or more by our standards. We lived on beans, rice, and homemade tortillas much of the time. We had no phone, and for some months, no power. My friends were an escape, him more passionately.

We go to a café, some distance away; he has a car. I10 is an easy drive now, this late at night. 10 years from this moment it will not be so. We are in Claremont, in a new place. He orders a cup of Joe. The barista (if I can call her that, so naive) doesn’t know the term. I have an Italian Soda; I have not developed a taste for caffeine yet. The setting is like the others I know, post-Edwardian drawing room. Board games are scattered about, they are not so concerned about the pieces like most that require you to turn over your ID to check out the pieces. We are face to face, leaning over the table and excitedly discussing the mundane…no, moot points of the universe. I am becoming restless and I want to be home. We leave for a video store. I leave his side to search for something that will occupy my time long enough to Forget. I return with a copy of this film. He is no doubt an intellectual, but such bleak fare is seldom on his palate. He nods his consent and we proceed to the check out. He can be such a Jew, and such a Neurotic. They ask for his ID and he presents his credit card, and visa-versa, he asks about prices and settles for some answer, as long as it takes a fight. Such hurdles are overcome by the service industry’s need to serve (read: “make money”) and we are on our way.

The train tracks were a few yards outside my window, like a parody of the Blues Brothers. Every so often the house would shake and conversation would become impossible. My window is foiled over, no light comes in. Only an 18” black light provides any visibility.

This film is not bleak, really. It has a gaunt, black and white visage, don’t get me wrong, but there are visions of Life and Love; the knight is really looking for something to give Meaning before he dies. My partner makes an off-hand comment; that I consider silent German cinema as light viewing. Compared to the Sorrow and the Pity, yes I do. His barb is misplaced- I enjoy films created by artists and intellectuals, not hacks and hired guns. That’s a difficult boundary, I know. Film is only made to make money for the most part. There are some exceptions, I know. I prefer things that tackle uncommon moments, embrace uncommon beauty and grace.

The pale face of Death is a stark figure, looming over the frame. The idea of watching a film about a knight playing chess with Death might seem boring, but it sets up so many Icons that I nearly weep. The knight meets a family with a beautiful child. Their names translate as Joseph and Mary. They hold their boy with such care and love. Their emotions flood over me. I can watch well-made contemporary films, but there are so few films that move me to the point of tears. I don’t cry from sadness, but from a flood of emotions that I can’t control all at once.

He sleeps. My black light is still on. I have a book, Doug Coupland’s Generation X, which glows under the black light. He is restless; I am still in his arms. I believe he is asleep; he rouses every so often to make me believe he is having trouble sleeping, but I am not tired.

Later, he claims the books I read then were like some medieval monk's prized few manuscripts. These films, texts, moments are all that to me. He bought be that book on a trip to Venice Beach, in the time before I learned to have a job. The object is still one of my treasures, but less so than the memories.