Regarding Meet Joe Black and other thoughts on the Great Goodbye
12/26/06 18:25
It's Christmas weekend, and I do what I always do:
gorge on TV. Around midnight on Christmas Eve, my
cousin Tommy suggests that we watch Meet Joe Black,
otherwise known as a Moving Picture Vehicle that Exists
Solely to Gaze at Brad Pitt in the Prime of His Youth
for Four Hours.
Actually, it was only 3, but with commercial breaks coming every five minutes, I was forced to stay up till 4 a.m. just to see how they ended this ridiculous charade, in which the Grim Reaper is played by Brad Pitt, who's stolen the body of a mere mortal to come and take Anthony Hopkins' character away. Hopkins gets to 'leave' at the end of his 65th birthday bash, see to it that his business in order, and says deep, meaningful things to his two daughters. It was as if he was about to take a long vacation, not croak. Absolutely ridiculous.
But not as ridiculous or maddening as the idea that death is this nice tidy thing, where we get swept away to the next place, which surely resembles a high-class hotel with luxurious linens. It's a total fallacy, of course, but one that we all indulge in. I found myself saying to my four year old niece when we came upon a picture of Grandma, who died last year, after she asked if Grandma was in heaven, "Yes, let's wave to her!" Then, we waved.
Truth is, as I learned watching my father rasp his last breath, shaking and shuddering with a force he hadn't exhibited for many months, that you do not go away peacefully into that good night, there is no next place, it doesn't look like a luxury hotel, and death most certainly doesn't look like Brat Pitt.
Nope.
Actually, it was only 3, but with commercial breaks coming every five minutes, I was forced to stay up till 4 a.m. just to see how they ended this ridiculous charade, in which the Grim Reaper is played by Brad Pitt, who's stolen the body of a mere mortal to come and take Anthony Hopkins' character away. Hopkins gets to 'leave' at the end of his 65th birthday bash, see to it that his business in order, and says deep, meaningful things to his two daughters. It was as if he was about to take a long vacation, not croak. Absolutely ridiculous.
But not as ridiculous or maddening as the idea that death is this nice tidy thing, where we get swept away to the next place, which surely resembles a high-class hotel with luxurious linens. It's a total fallacy, of course, but one that we all indulge in. I found myself saying to my four year old niece when we came upon a picture of Grandma, who died last year, after she asked if Grandma was in heaven, "Yes, let's wave to her!" Then, we waved.
Truth is, as I learned watching my father rasp his last breath, shaking and shuddering with a force he hadn't exhibited for many months, that you do not go away peacefully into that good night, there is no next place, it doesn't look like a luxury hotel, and death most certainly doesn't look like Brat Pitt.
Nope.