July was a month to refresh and defunk. May was a month of hatred towards my viewings, while June was bland with accepting my fate. July has been the month to rediscover my love for The NeverEnding Story. I now see each viewing as a pleasurable challenge to find new elements, dig even deeper, and revel in the seemingly mundane. I am not skipping through rainbows and shouting my love from the rooftops, but neither am I pondering ways to make the entire cast and crew of The NeverEnding Story suffer as I have suffered.
Something akin to this.
The most interesting result from July is my deeper understanding of my own ability to compartmentalize my life. The NeverEnding Story is a project that I do in my spare time (for some unfathomable reason). It does not seep into any times outside of Cinema 52 work times. I don’t quote, dream about, or interpretive dance to anything related to my film. Cinemanaut Bill cursed that he had the title song from The NeverEnding Story stuck in his head while I seemed immune to its intoxicating synth rhythms. I get “The Power of Love” and the Jurassic Park theme stuck in my head more frequently than anything from my own film.
Limahl is beckoning you into his lair with promises of big hair and Moog products.
At the end of my viewings Atreyu, Bastian, and all of Fantasia are placed behind the imaginary door in my brain and closed shut. Any talk of The NeverEnding Story outside of Cinema 52 discussions are a surreal experience. For one of my jobs, I have to have supervisions with my boss. My boss is a clinician, so our supervisions are more like a pseudo-therapy session. In a group supervision, she mentioned that I write about a movie in my spare time. I then had to explain to a room of other Behavioral Health Professionals that I watch the same film every week and write about it. My body was in a fight or flight mode immediately. I told my tale, but I was flushed the entire time, my heart was racing, and I just wanted my turn to be over with so that The NeverEnding Story could be forced behind its door again.
That’s right, Bastian, you just stay up there in your little attic.
Work is work. Blog is blog. These things do not mix. Ever. My brain boxes off and sequesters the different parts of my life into manageable bits. It makes life run rather smoothly, in my opinion. But Cinemanaut Bill (that insightful little devil) also pointed out that I haven’t made any mention that Bastian and I have something in common.
Our enthusiastic love of books!
Bastian and I are both down one parent. My father passed away when I was 17. He didn’t die in a car crash or have any long-suffering cancer. He was just old and his body gave out. This singular life event doesn’t seem pertinent to my viewings, though. For me, The NeverEnding Story is about a little boy who overcomes the gloom of impending adulthood by believing in the fantastic. The death of Bastian’s mother is just another device to make his character more sympathetic to the audience. Also, my memories of watching The NeverEnding Story are linked more with my mother than my dad, so his passing remains in its own box, or room, or whatever metaphor makes the most sense. I compartmentalize my life and the Cinema 52 experiment is making this aspect of my personality more evident. Thanks for the introspection, film.
Stop acting like you had anything to do with this, Falkor.