Saturday, November 1, 2008

Hello November

this is the view out my window as I write.

Last night we went to the B house to celebrate the best things about Halloween-- kids in costumes, Reese's Crunch bars and old horror movies.

After the little B-lets were put down for the night, we retired to the TV room to watch Dead of Night, a vintage British horror from 1945. The horror genre generally is not my favorite, but I made an exception for this one, as it ran more like a Twilight Zone marathon rather than a slasher flick. After the movie we returned to the front room to discuss the things that intrigued us about the movie.

As the night ripened, it occurred to me that what B and Dutch were saying about the movie could just as easily be applied to faith and God. The movie began where it ended or ended where it began, like the ouroboros, its own goofy reality was strangely sufficient to contain itself. One of the things that made it delightfully creepy was that we were never sure if the monsters were in the heads of the characters or were "real." Which is kind of funny to think about, since it is a work of fiction. In one episode a haunted mirror drives a character over the brink of sanity. He knows there is something dreadfully wrong, but is still compelled to keep it. The episodic plot is driven by one of the characters who arrives at a party, and is overcome by a powerful feeling of deja vu, in spite of never having met anyone there before.

As we discussed, Mr B mixed us cocktails from his exotic liqueur collection spiced with stories about the various recipes. He would say things like, "this is an old San Francisco favorite, and the rum and spices are remnants of the Triangle Trade, but I don't understand where the pineapple comes from..." as he passed the glasses around. The world suddenly felt huge and mysterious, as eventually, we were simply sipping the Picon and the Genever straight out of the bottle.

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I blog about life and soup, but mostly soup.