Life is Movie Only in Retrospect – Jan 27, 2020

Terry Gilliam is an amazing director. One of the greatest. Only a vision of a genius is capable of directing the movie called Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

I see Hunter S. Thompson there and exclaim: look at that, what an interesting life! But then, more it is a really good narration rather than life.

Crazy people are more interesting. But for Thompson there seemed to be no adventure, but an illusion of adventure. Everything was built upon narration, and narration was what making his life interesting.

There are emotional ups (of feeling alive) and downs (boring parts) in life. People never live a life full of adventure and joy.

Life is not a movie. The more a movie reflects life, the more boring it gets. You know, cheap production arthouse films, praised by movie nerds. And they call it a “difficult” movie (although some movies are just inherently boring thanks to shitty screenwriters and stupid producers).

But it must be alright to leave out what is boring. That is what Hollywood does, as it is what audience demands. Keep what is interesting, cut what is boring.

And that’s what makes life incomparable to movies and books. You cannot not have boring parts in life.

But when we take a look back and try to narrate our lives, we don’t remember what is boring. We first cut out unnecessary parts, and only after, if something remains there to talk about, life slowly begins to gain her meaning, her label of “interesting”.

So, before death comes too close, one needs to ask himself or herself a question: Did I do everything I could to make my life worth a fine narration?

But with our attempts to make our lives interesting, we also risk having huge regrets in our lives. We risk to make sacrifices that might not be worth making. And those who are brave, either bring misery into their lives or get lucky enough to live a life full of adventure.

Ernest Hemingway seemed to have a good narration above an interesting life as well. A Movable Feast is just boring Parisian memories told in an engaging manner. For Whom The Bell Tolls is experiences and imagination of Ernest Hemingway plus the narration of Pilar (i.e. the sum of the stories that have been told to Hemingway by his acquaintances). Just Hemingway only and no external experiences do not conclude as fine story to talk about.

Seems like, the more we will strive for an interesting life or finding some meaning in it, or search for happiness, or try to become a superman – the more we are going to get disappointed. These all are just ideals, utopian delusions that a human will is incapable of acquiring.

So all we can do is to search for ways to make our lives worth a narration, just like Thompson or Hemingway, and never get upset for always coming short of our ideals. As our ideals are mere illusions and nothing more.

One last thing. It doesn’t look strange that both Papa and Raoul Duke blew their heads off. Why second guess: it’s a price to pay for living an interesting life.