Fictions of Love

In these 2 weeks or so, I've watched multiple renditions of the famed Shakespeare tragedy - Romeo and Juliet - since it was a course requirement. I've taken the module "Fictions of Love - Film and Literature", which must be my greatest fortune. I mean, to be able to watch films and read classics, what more could I ask for?

I remember first reading the play 8 years ago in secondary school. At that time it was probably too intense for Sec 2 students to read what seemed like gibberish. I recall that our English teacher would painstakingly explain what each line in the text means, sadly, to a bunch of disinterested youths who wanted nothing except for that dreadful class to end. Of course, I tried to pay attention but in the end, I would always leave the class feeling more confused what "thy" meant, "where art thou" really was, or why Shakespeare would wanna ruin the play for everybody by beginning it with a huge spoiler. It wasn't until my teacher showed us the film that we expressed some insipid interest for the first time in the entire semester, and even then, they spoke in that same weird literature so I guess we weren't that much more enlightened after all.

My point is, I had to re-read the text... to refresh (or reintroduce >.<) what would have been a nebulous memory of the play. I did know Romeo and Juliet died, though, but everybody knows that so it probably counts for nothing. But I'm glad I re-read it, because at my current level, I wield an entirely different perspective of the play. It made sense now, even without those translation notes, and I am surely in a better position than I was 8 years ago to think and talk and write about love.

I watched the 1968 Franco Zeffirelli version first, then the 1996 version by Baz Luhrmann (not in full; I was slightly turned off by the frivolity of this version), and finally the most recent one by Carlo Carlei. All 3 renditions differ greatly in style, captured storyline, and delivery methods. It was good to have the contrast, I must say. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer the one by Zefferelli most, although the other 2 versions do have considerable merits.

It seemed pretty pointless to watch so many versions of the film, especially since I already knew what was going to happen and how it's gonna happen. But it wasn't just that. Every time I watched a different version, I feel the helplessness of the star-crossed couple again, I see the destruction that excessive love (arguably lust) can bring, and I hear them proclaim their undying love for each other once again, in this exclusive world they have created for themselves to shut out all the animosity and hatred that plagued their families. It isn't the same. A love so timeless it transcends centuries to be told again, and then decades, to be reinvented and reinterpreted and presented to the audience in a whole new light. I was moved. All 3 times.

But it wouldn't make sense. I already knew the story. Then why did I feel new emotions every single time I watched it again? And that is the beauty of film. It is a visual text designed to evoke a different set of emotions with the way it is presented. It doesn't matter if I watched it another 10 times (I'm sure there aren't so many versions), because I would feel so diverse at the end of it all.

I didn't expect myself to fall in love with a module so contrasted with those I'm doing full-time. Lately I find myself gravitating towards everything that is unconventional for me, and I distant myself from those that are familiar. I find it harder and harder to concentrate on what would be my curriculum, but instead drifting towards the things our society would never put enough value to. I've begun to distant myself from a lot of things to make time for even more things - things that I care about. I've started to neglect people. It's not that I've stopped caring for people, but I feel that I am invariably cornered into solitary existence, because that's when I feel at ease.

I don't know how dangerously deep I am in this but right now it feels so good.

My mind is a whirlpool containing thoughts that threaten to destroy any convention left in my life.