Study in Pink

Those who know me may have noted that from time to time, I exhibit some behaviors that lean a bit toward the OCD side. As I’ve never been officially diagnosed, who’s to say whether I’m afflicted or not (checking that the front door is locked every time I pass it by is not definitive proof!), but I can say that I tend to get really, really excited and involved in things that manage to attract my attention, to the point where I must collect or attend or spend time (read countless hours) on the internet researching (read stalking) certain people or bands or films or shows or countries or objects.

This may simply be part of my character. Or it may be due to a frequent, recurring boredom which I have no clear concept of how to appease. I’m always seeking the next thing to engage me, mind body and soul. Thank God this is a cluttered world with many distractions to...well, distract me.

In the most oblique way I am trying to tell you about my weekend. Obsession comes in to it because I do what may be construed as silly things as a result of my various infatuations. For instance, I drove to Boulder again this weekend, Saturday and Sunday nights both, to see Third Star. That brings the tally up to three times for anyone keeping score. Three times and 132 miles. For a movie. By myself.

Did I mention that I also cut my best friend short on the phone, practically hanging up on her to make sure I got to the 7:00 pm show on Sunday? She understands a thing or two about obsessive behavior, so I don’t think she was too offended.

On the rare occasion, my obsessions are slightly more fruitful. I love art and design. In fact I spend a lot of time daydreaming about décor, most of which I can neither find (Why, oh why can’t I find the sofa in my head?) nor afford. Out of desperation, this weekend I finally made a piece of my own.

Now, it’s nothing remarkably artistic, but darned if I don’t just love a well-executed (the pun was not originally intended, I promise) representation of an anatomical human skull. I wish I could draw one. Instead I robbed the internet and put my photo editing software to playful work. The hue and repetition of the design give it a street-art sort of vibe, don’t you think?

All right, I’m grasping, but still I have something to show for this weekend as opposed to the usual vague sense of defeat. And it’ll be sort of cheerful, all those rosy macabre grins staring out at me every day. A Study In Pink, if you will (blatant nod to Sherlock, there). Goodness knows we can all use a smile.

Review: Third Star

Adrift as I am already with conflicting ideas and emotions, reviewing Third Star is no effortless task. To begin with, it is not an easy movie to recommend and certainly isn’t one you are likely to see in your local multiplex. For the average movie-goer it is probably too difficult- it has quiet gaps, no true action sequences, hardly any slapstick shenanigans, the characters talk over one another’s lines (in accents, no less) and there is no display of romantic attachment. However, if you take the plunge, if you care to look beyond glam and effects and cheap laughs, if you can stand to slow your pace to consider what life is about, this film will arrest you. It is an artistic endeavor full of beauty and humanity, of grace and friendship, silliness and frailty. It also has some laugh out loud moments.

On its face, it is the simple story of a terminally ill young man (exquisitely acted by Benedict Cumberbatch) who wants to go on one last camping expedition with his best friends (JJ Field, Tom Burke and Adam Robertson) to visit his favorite place. To get there, they wander the sometimes precarious terrain of West Wales and their own disillusioned lives. Adventures, spats, humor and acceptance ensue.

At it's heart, Third Star is a mediation on the choices we make, the time we spend, the things we are willing to do for the people we hold dear.

Knowing the premise, I fully expected to cry and was prepared to do so, tissues neatly tucked in the outer pocket of my purse, and some viewers I'm sure will be moved to tears in their seats, but I found the film too well crafted to elicit an instant reaction. The emotional heft of the story is too subtle and touches a more profound place than can be examined within the 92 minutes of a single viewing. Nearly 24 hours later, I am still attempting to catalog the thoughts and feelings that it's left me with (almost as though I’m going through the five stages of grief) and I feel the tears may yet come.

I watched Third Star in the tiny 50-ish person Boedecker Theater in Boulder, Colorado. Surrounding me were vociferous veterans of independent film viewing who laughed and gasped and responded accordingly to all that was being shared with them during the showing and yet, when the screen went black and the lights slowly rose, there wasn’t so much as a murmur. Instead there was the silence of impact, of people affected. It was a privilege to experience that in a modern cinema.

In May, due to it’s small opening, the production company initiated a project called “Third Star Adventures” to encourage people to share the journeys they’d made in order to see the film. Some people crossed borders, some traveled to different countries, all seemed to come away with an impression, a stirring of emotion. They felt they’d had an experience. I only had to drive 22 miles (in 90 degree weather without an air conditioner) down the highway for the opportunity, and I can’t help but feel that a new journey is just beginning for me as a result.

That, I think is where the beauty of this film lies- in it’s quiet and genuine reflection of human experience. We can all relate to that, can’t we?