Beyond Borders

I was ambushed last night.

I watch movies for a couple of simple reasons. Sometimes, it's to experience romance vicariously. Other times, it is about forgetting my mundane existence for 2 hours (plus DVD extras, God bless 'em). Much of the time, I am watching on an emotional level and an analytical one, trying to learn from the writer and director how to construct a story to help my writing. And lastly, I do it to experience places I can't see from my upstairs office window. Maybe they are places I've been before, like movies set in the Middle East or Ireland, for which I still have feelings of nostalgia or historical curiosity. Or maybe they are places I have never been and never will be.

I had two Netflix movies to choose from last night. Ironically and coincidentally, both starred Clive Owen (collective gasp from the readers) but each had a different female lead. Beyond Borders had Angeline Jolie, and Derailed had Jennifer Aniston. I guess you could say Clive and Brad could form their own little club....

My point here is that neither of these women impress me, acting-wise. I don't consider either a good actor, and unlike watching Brad Pitt films, I can't just watch for the scenery, because they don't do anything for me in that department, either. (For the record, I do think Clive Owen can act. I am so completely biased, however, I have no idea if that is true.) Movies with actors I dislike should carry a warning label of "CP" for "Co-star Poisoned." So with either film last night, I worried that I would be too distracted by the co-star to enjoy the story or Clive Owen.

I went with Beyond Borders, attracted more to a tale of humanitarian efforts than one concerning escaping the ramifications of infidelity. (BB has its infidelity, too, but that is not all there is to the story.) And on a personal level, I have greater respect for Jolie than Aniston. One focuses all her time and energy on perfecting her golden tan, while the other actually does substantial humanitarian work. And for those who sneer at that--how many of us can truly say we've acccomplished anything remotely close to what she has since starring in Beyond Borders, which is when she adopted Maddox and began her humanitarian work in earnest? That's what I thought.

Though distract by those inhuman lips at first, I was soon quite unexpectedly sucked deep into the story. One, I am a romantic at heart, despite the angry frosting, and two, I am a frustrated humanitarian, who has been rejected by a few separate divisions of the UN over the last decade. I also have a deep, unrequited love for a UK-based charity called The Brooke which is dedicated to providing free veterinary services and education to working animals and their owners in Egypt and other third world locations, and I can't even convince them to let me shovel manure for them. It is a raw wound, and it was reawoken last night with this film, in good and bad ways.

One exchange between Owen and Jolie stayed with me after I had finished the movie, re-watched several scenes, and gone through all the "making of" extras. It had to do with the tendency among first world countries to avoid personal suffering--personal feelings, even--at all costs. It was a stark reminder that the cushion that surrounds each of us is SO much thicker than we like to tell ourselves, as we recycle, buy the right light bulbs, shop organic, and contribute annually to our favorite charities.

Nick Callahan: pauses - What's the first thing you do when you get a cold?
Sarah Jordan: What?
Nick Callahan: What's the first thing you do when you get a cold?
Sarah Jordan: Uh... chicken soup, aspirin, scotch...
Nick Callahan: You never just have the cold?
Sarah Jordan: I don't know what...
Nick Callahan: interrupts - Taken nothing. Just have the cold?
Sarah Jordan: No
Nick Callahan: No, and that's us, right? We drown it. Kill it. Numb it, anything not to feel. You know, when I was a doctor in London, no one ever said 'medahani'. [Loosely translated as "You are one who steals from Death," uttered by a dying woman he is trying to save in surgery.] They don't thank you like they thank you here. Cos here they feel everything, straight from God. There's no drugs, no painkillers. It's the weirdest, purest thing - suffering...

And he--the writer--is right. This morning I medicated my dog as she lay under a table and she brought her head up unexpectedly, slamming into my nose as my head slammed into the table over me. (I never claimed I was clever.) My first thought? Grab a Tylenol quick, before you get a headache. And then I stopped. I bumped my nose and my head. It was not terminal. I wasn't bleeding, nor did I suffer a concussion. Why couldn't I just deal with a sore nose for 15 minutes?

So I did. That does not make me a hero, obviously. I also had these thoughts last night as I looked at my anti-depressants, but I took them. I would like to stay as functional as possible as I try to digest the feelings this movie gave me. I skipped a sleeping pill and--surprise--was up most of the night. But that didn't kill me, either.

Anyway, it's just something to think about. And that's what makes a good film, for me, regardless of schmaltzy love scenes. But don't get me wrong--those were the scenes I re-watched!