Que Sera, Sera (or The Myth of Control?)

[un]Movie Review!

On the heels of my recommendation for Little Miss Sunshine (which should garner acting awards for Alan Arkin and Abigail Breslin), I have one more movie recommendation: Half Nelson. Man! What a movie! It's an independent feature so those living in the Disneyfied segregated purgatory armpits aka "The'Burbs," or those living in the boonies, may not be able to see it ("It is written... " or, "Time Warner says so!" LOL!).

The movie could've easily taken the easy way out, as Spielberg and his imitator Ron Howard, often do (Why?!?! WTF did he do Da Vinci Code?!?! Grrrrrr). Instead of the tried and tired formula of white, brilliant, but flawed teacher, saves bright, but flawed black inner city kids, and they all live happily ever after, we instead get a powerful movie that totally engages you without being totally alienating.

Ryan Gosling and newcomer Shareeka Epps turn in two of the most powerfully nuanced performances of the year. Epps (as Dray) is simply amazing. Her acting is all restraint and subtlety, which makes it even more amazing considering her age. Her face is sometimes an unreadable mask (but all the more readable because of it!) and when she does smile, or emote, it's as if the sun burst.

Gosling plays Yang to Epps Yin, and he's able to riff off of Epps restraint in all kinds of ways and his performance is both hilariously ironic and poignantly tragic. In addition, at a time where even depictions of 9/11 are conveniently de-politicized (which happens to be a political decision, btw), Half Nelson wears its politics on its sleeve. The movie is interspersed with clips of historical civil rights footage, which adds to the power of the subject of the movie. Be forewarned, there are no neat little endings, proposed solutions, or tidy little packages  in this movie, but it will move you in ways that may shake you out of the sanitized coma that is modern life (we all want not to feel, it seems. But we're dying to meet that someone, or to feel in some meaningful way, people!).

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"This is moral perfection: to live each day as though it were the last;
 to be tranquil, sincere, yet not indifferent to one’s fate."
 -- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (121-180)
Emperor of Rome 161–180, Stoic philosopher, Meditations

 The average Westerner does all he can to impose direction and control over his life. I have a much older friend I sometimes play dominos with, who is no closer to adopting this attitude than were our ancestors in Puerto Rico a hundred or two hundred years ago. If there is any aspect of the modern Latino/a psychology that's most pathologized by whites, it's the acceptance of fatalism best expressed in the phrase, que sera, sera (what will be, will be).

 At first glance, my friend’s acceptance of fate (“… it is written”) may appear perverse, considering the dazzling range of tools we Westerners have in our arsenal against the impermanent and unpredictable nature of life, but spend some time with my friend and you will quickly find yourself questioning the wisdom (perhaps the sincerity?) of Western attitudes. He's the latest in a long line of mentors.

 When he has paid up his taxes, my friends explains, his life insurance, trained in the latest marketable skills, saved for his kids’ education, paid alimony, bought the house and car conforming to the unwritten rules of his tribe and which allows him a certain status, given up alcohol abuse, nicotine, extra-marital sex and recreational drugs, spent his two-week vacation (or weekends) on some adventurous (but safe!) holiday, learned how to be super-careful as to what he says to or does with members of the opposite sex, the average “Americano” (as my friend calls us) may – and often does – wonder where his life went. Well, my friend doesn’t say it all in one convoluted sentence like that, but that’s the core of his message, I guarantee you.

He (my friend) continues: The average Americano, invariably feels cheated when he finally discovers that all the worrying and all the insurance payments have failed to protect him from fire, burglary, any number of natural disasters, The Sack, terrorist activity, death, or worse --   his wife’s sudden and seemingly impulsive decision to desert with the kids, the car, and all the spare cash in the joint bank account.

 And if you were to tell my friend that in a kingdom without safety nets, he would be crushed by accident or illness, whereas an Americano might have bought himself some measure of protection, you would be correct. However, in-between those transitory bumps and grinds of life (which are, as the song implies, inevitable), my friend lives a life of sublime insouciance, as I like to call it. The standard Americano observation would be that he is an old man living in a fool’s paradise. Perhaps, my friend would agree with a wink and a nod, but might not he reply that the Americano has built himself a fool’s hell?

 He’s some character, my friend…

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If no one tells you they love you today, know this: I love you. I love you unconditionally for being the way you are right now -- this very moment -- and I will continue loving you in this way until you can love yourself in this very manner.