The Russia House is one of my favorite films, but I can no longer bear to watch it.
For a period of time, I used to screen it every few months, but I haven't been able to do so for more than a year now, because - now - it inevitably reminds me of someone. In flipping through channels with the remote, I've stumbled across a screening of the film on Bravo, and am now experiencing the return of the repressed.
How do you reclaim something that once brought great pleasure after life experience has given it additional associations, not all of them pleasant? Some day I'll have to make a case for the greatness of The Russia House but, for now, I'll watch a few more scenes before I turn away forgetting.
Since the band-aid has already been pulled back, let me conclude by quoting a related text, Yevgeny Yevtushenko's "Colors" (in a translation by George Reavey):
When your face came rising
above my crumpled life,
the only thing I understood at first
was how meager were all my possessions.
But your face cast a peculiar glow
on forests, seas, and rivers,
initiating into the colors of the world
uninitiated me.
I’m so afraid, I’m so afraid,
the unexpected dawn might end,
ending the discoveries, tears, and raptures,
but I refuse to fight this fear.
This fear--I understand--
is love itself. I cherish this fear,
not knowing how to cherish,
I, careless guardian of my love.
This fear has ringed me tightly.
These moments are so brief, I know,
and, for me, the colors will disappear
when once your face has set...
True, that.
Posted by gminter at April 26, 2004 08:59 PM