On Maestro

A sublimation of the film, perhaps

Today, I stayed in. I only left at about 4:30 p.m. for flowers, olives, water crackers, prosecco, spinach, golden cherry tomatoes, and mushroom ravioli. I had a perfect night with Italian jazz and watched "Maestro" using my speaker system — not the horrid “surround sound” audio my $150 television produces in my haplessly empty apartment. The film hit so close to home: "I guess I’m attracted to a certain type.”

I didn’t dare imagine what my life would've been, had yada, yada, yada not happened.

Joe Blow visiting was difficult to grasp even before I learned he wouldn’t. His not telling me is right on track. His waiting to respond and telling me he’d be with Joe Blow Number Two for New Year’s was on track.

Bernstein, as depicted, had such kindness, but an inability to communicate with those to whom he bound himself. A discerning eye can see Felicia’s decay from the absence of love for her as a wife, life partner, and person deserving of the same intimacy she could offer. (Think: her idea to sleep on the floor.)

(Think: her placing a pillow, slippers, toothbrush, and toothpaste on the floor.)

I know I am not with anyone today, this December 31. No person is expecting a call from me or for me to be home. No one is probably wondering about my whereabouts. No one is particularly concerned for my well-being beyond that a parent or close acquaintance feels. In a way, I feel I’ve separated myself – intentionally left myself out of the ‘LIFE IN LOVE.’ But, I didn’t realize I was doing so, and I don’t realize how, or why I did. Kindness is all I come back to. Love is mistaken for kindness, and kindness is mistaken for love.

The year's final day is here, and I do not know why this meeting of the last and next 12 months is disturbing me. “Maestro” exemplifies that same hesitation: In one, life is perfect and moving along splendidly; in another, life is perfect and moving along splendidly. But between, there is inescapable friction, quieting itself through art.

I talked about these scenarios with my friend the other day. The butterfly effect. Actions and their consequences. Blah. Blah. Blah.

The in-between is where I do believe art lies, and Berstein said it perfectly:

“A work of art does not answer questions; it provokes them, and its essential meaning is in the tension between the contradictory answers.”

My recommendations:

“Mank” Purely for stylistic reasons.

“Silver Linings Playbook” If you have not seen this, you are a fool (not really). Bradley acts brilliantly alongside Jennifer Lawrence. The two do a fantastic dance in psychology.

“Tar.” There is nothing to say, but Maestros. Love. Tenderness. Shame…