Lughnasa                                                                        Honey Moon

Kate and I watched Amour last night.  It struck us differently.  I saw two people whose reserve prevented them from opening up to each other, whose Gallic stoicism bordered on emotional neglect.  Georges was dutiful, sometimes loving, always patient and persevering.  Anne had a stubborn fear of medical care and a resignation that set in almost immediately after her first incident.

The dynamic between the two of them left little room for graceful moments.  As I saw it.  Kate saw two people in love who stuck with each other through a horrible and realistically presented slip off a medical precipice.

Perhaps it was the absence of a story line other than the grim decline of Anne, but I don’t believe the unrelenting grayness fading to black represents the whole truth of any such episode.  To be fair there were a couple of moments, when Anne and Georges sang together and when she first got her motorized wheel chair, that had a hint of another mood; but, the bed wetting, the second stroke, the firing of the second nurse, the nasty exchange between Georges and Eva, their daughter, kept piling on and on and on.

I do know this.  It is not the end I want and I will work from this point to see that it doesn’t happen that way.