“Well I’m Not the Kind to Live in the Past”

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Optional musical accompaniment for this post.

This photograph shows me wearing a T-shirt I acquired in 2002, when I visited New York University (where I was accepted but did not attend). Not that you could tell, but I was listening to a Richard Thompson record, specifically “Beeswing,” a song that reminded me of the personal travails an acquaintance in the comics world whom I greatly admire was going through at the time. What you can tell is that there’s a giant black trash bag looking out of place in this brightly lit, bunk bed-dominated room.

I went back to Ohio for a week last month, two days in Columbus to see my brother graduate with his M.A. from the Ohio State University and then move him into his new apartment, then a week in my childhood home, including time in my childhood bedroom. Time cleaning it out.

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The Stanford Case and My 2016 Boiling Point

Yesterday should by all rights have been a good day. I made a nice bit of money this week thanks to overtime. Besides getting nearer to the final revisions to my novel, I have two essays in mind on cleaning out my bedroom in Ohio and listening to Hamilton. And Kate Kasenow sent me the most extraordinary art I have seen in a long while, art far too beautiful to grace the writing of someone like me.

But it is not a good day. I am upset. And for once I need to purge my emotions.

I’ve had it for now with men.

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Especially men like him

Now this is a comment I don’t make lightly, being a biological, cisgendered man myself with reasonably good self-esteem. But I’ve hit a boiling point which makes me look at a problem…and also recognize myself in the problem.

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Recent Bits of Writing Advice

I’ve been too quiet on here as of late because, guess what, I’ve been writing! Specifically, I’ve been revising pitches to Boom!, reworking the third act of my screenplay, and revising the slightly over 300 pages of the first draft of my novel. I’ve never felt so confident in my talent, and Mr. Miranda’s line “Why do you write like you’re running out of time?” deeply resonates with me; I’m working hard to complete these stories and get them out to the world more than ever before.

But in the past few months, while doing all of this writing, I’ve been picking up odds and ends of advice, which I want to share. Although no piece of advice this year may compare to Jackson Lanzing’s dictum “Do whatever you want with the goddamn cat.”

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Which is really good advice.

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Myself and the Bottle

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Michelob has a special place in my heart. It’s cheap, decently flavored (the Amber Bock being the finest variety), and obviously is nothing compared to the wares of Great Lakes and Anchor. But it was the first alcohol I ever tasted.

As a child, I’d get sips of beer, wine, or whiskey at family gatherings. I can’t remember the wines; for a long time, my younger self thought white wine was a thick, opaque liquid similar to milk. The beer was often Michelob, Moosehead, or Heineken. The whiskey was always Crown Royal. I come from a Crown Royal family, where the drink is brought out for any holiday or special occasion.

This was also the age where middle and high school classes, with all the textbooks and programs of Reagan’s years intact, strictly enforced the idea of perpetually saying no to drugs and alcohol. The younger me didn’t think drinking was special and felt perfectly content to stay away from alcohol my entire life.

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The Two Zhivagos

I have a good friend named Jonathan Callan, and if you don’t know that name, you should, because he’s one of the most brilliant and committed writers I know. He also has a penchant for starting really great conversations and thought experiments on Facebook. This past two week, he made two posts that got a lot of feedback. One was a call to recommend black-and-white studio system-era movies with great love stories. The other was a discussion about several articles on how liberals “should” vote this year, the point being that no candidate is entitled to your vote under any circumstances. I was following both of these during my breaks at the office…I was on mandatory overtime this week…and made a small contribution, one of many passionate ones, to the former, and didn’t go near the latter because these days I really don’t like potentially arguing politics with people until it becomes necessary. Suffice to say that lots of Callan’s friends were making great points…

The funny thing is that on the subway ride home, contemplating both of these posts, my mind focused on my all-time favorite movie, Doctor Zhivago.

Doctor Zhivago is in glorious, explosive color and it has nothing to do with Hillary Clinton v. Bernie Sanders and such. It took over my mind irregardless.

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There are many reasons why I love Zhivago so much, many having to do with the film as a movie and nothing else: the artistry of David Lean, his crew, and his cast of thousands.* But as I have grown older and so many other movies I love seem to emotionally resonate with me less and less, Zhivago has grown in stature, and it is in part because of the relationship between the two brothers at the heart of the movie: Doctor Yuri Zhivago himself and his half-brother Yevgraf, the Communist general. Their diverging paths, played out on a grand and complicated scale, reflect upon my own personal version of one of the main conflicts that drives every great story, the difference between what we want and what we need.

Yuri represents who I secretly want to be. He is devoted to creation, to poetry, to simplicity, to looking for the best in people and caring for others…and taking the world as it comes. But taking the world as it comes can be difficult. The podcast Filmspotting  described Doctor Zhivago as an apocalyptic film and they’re right: it is a story of the forces of human nature and history coming into an occasionally brutal and cataclysmic conflict and sweeping away an entire order of things. Yuri doesn’t particularly care who comes out on top as long as he can be left alone to create the art that for him means infinitely more than political and social reality, that he sees as longer lasting than any particular state in which the nation finds itself. There is something attractive in living solely for your work, trying to stay beyond the conflicts of humankind with benevolent acceptance. But Yuri’s failure to choose any side ultimately leads to the high dramas of the third act.

So if Yuri is who I want to be in the deepest parts of my id, then Yevgraf is who I need to be, who I am called on to be. Yevgraf is one of my favorite characters in all cinema, and not solely because he is played to perfection by Sir Alec Guinness as a stern man on the outside with a quiet storm of emotions within. As that sentence suggests, Yevgraf is a character with more to him than meets the eye. He chooses a side. He sticks to his principles and tirelessly works for his side to win. And he does so in a manner that inspires love in some and respect in many who see him only as a general.

But Yevgraf also recognizes, from beginning to end, the artistic and symbolic value of people’s lives. He is always ready to tell someone they are special, that they have a gift. He would probably say he has no gift of his own, that he gives all he has to the revolution. But Yevgraf has a gift: he is the great storyteller, the one who can put all the pieces together and determine what it all means. He sees the story of where Russia is going. He sees the story of how Yuri’s life and the lives of those around him get intertwined with tragic consequences. And he tells these stories because they matter to people in an age when everything can shift so quickly and the truth is necessary. Like Alexander Hamilton, Yevgraf “writes like he’s running out of time” because time is at a premium and the stories must get told…for without them, the work he does is meaningless.

He acts. He creates. Yevgraf seems to come out on top. But Lean, Robert Bolt, and of course Boris Pasternak further complicate the situation by not making politics and history the sole driving forces of the story. Love, they say (and say correctly), is as powerful as politics and history. It is the living proof that social transformation alone is not the only energy that can shake a person.

And Yuri’s life is based around wearing his heart on his sleeve. His unquenchable twin desire for both Lara and Tonya is what gives Doctor Zhivago its main momentum, his attempts to try to hold on to them both, to reconcile his passions, and to live authentically influence all of his choices when he finally is forced to make choices. One could argue that a character like Yevgraf would frown on this, but Yevgraf has so much of his half-brother in him. He never speaks of it, but he admires Yuri and respects life Yuri leads. He is honest to a fault except when he knows a lie could save the lives of those he cares for. And in the final ten minutes, as Yevgraf concludes the story over some of the most haunting and heartbreaking imagery every put on celluloid, Guinness speaks the final lines of voiceover with what seems to be an offhand tone, almost a throwaway. As I’ve gotten older I know better. The man of action, the man of commitment to a cause, is sublimating his deepest feelings so they do not overpower him in an undesirable way. And he feels as deep as his brother…but Yuri, by the end, has had experiences and come to profound, human realizations that Yevgraf may probably never have and will never know.

This may be why I love Doctor Zhivago so much…there are deplorable things about Yuri and Yevgraf Zhivago alike, but there are also many things in both of them worth holding on to and developing within ourselves. it is a sharp, adult epic in which people who are never entirely right or entirely wrong struggle with each other and existence itself. And the longer I live, the more I realize how accurately this reflects the human condition in a way few films do.

So I leave with no easy answers. Although I also leave with Jonathan Callan’s IMDB page with a promise that he has more to come. And follow him on twitter, for he represents all the best things in Yevgraf (and I would say none of the worst) more than I do…although I keep trying.

*Zhivago was Lean and writer Robert Bolt’s follow-up to Lawrence of Arabia and on top of another stellar cast, amazing production design, and breathtaking Freddie Young cinematography designed to create a heightened reality–as a poet like Zhivago would see it–it also features a second half that feels really, really different from the first half, which is the one kind-of sort-of flaw in Lawrence.

Photo from The Realist

 

 

The Lessons of My Uncle

The oldest of my father’s siblings, Tom Rostan, turned seventy a couple weeks ago. The Rostan brood didn’t gather for the occasion, but the event was still marked by nationwide toasts of Crown Royal and similar concoctions. We didn’t think he would last this long.

Uncle Tom

Photo by Cathy Rostan

Tom has lived enough for three lifetimes. He spent most of his existence at sea, serving in the Navy and on international shipping boats. He married several times and raised many wonderful children. He once took a year off to grow coffee in South America.

After decades on the oceans, he settled in Florida with his wonderful wife Angie, but he’s never lost the air of command. I’ve read several of Clive Cussler’s Dirk Pitt novels, and Dirk’s boss Admiral James Sandecker always takes on the visage of Uncle Tom. When his giant body steps into the room and the mouth opens from amidst his great silver beard to speak in a hearty rumble, you listen. I’ve spent my life listening to him, including when he showed up in Boston on my 21st birthday and got me seriously tipsy on Jameson, Guinness, and Bailey’s while instructing me to try drugs, meet women, live to the fullest.

Landlocked, he’s become an active disseminator of Facebook memes and chain emails. Some are funny. Most are very political in nature. I think readers of this site know my own politics by now, and suffice to say he’s 180 degrees away from me. That said, he will post often post things I truly agree with, and a recent post made me think.

The meme in question bore the caption “Here is a list of everything a human being was born entitled to or was owed by the world.” The list was of a blank sheet of paper.

I’m feeling confident that this did not refer to parental love and a sustainable childhood, and in the broadest sense I agree. I’m speaking as someone with a fair amount of student loan debt, an apartment of his own, and an IRA. After grad school I nearly lost all my savings and worked hard to make sure I could hold on to what was left. I have never felt that I was entitled to anything and never assumed the world owed me a darn thing. Things aren’t perfect in my life, but I stay industrious, I work at both my job and my vocation as a writer with diligence, and I am happy.

That being said, I also know that part of our duty as decent human beings, and I would call it a Christian duty, is to provide help and support to those who need it most and who are thrown everything they can handle by existence. The widow, the orphan, the disabled, those affected by a changed economy our society is still adjusting to must be accounted for in our time.

One of the things that frustrates me the most about 2016 America is the “all or nothing” attitude held by so many. Right now it’s being expressed in devotion to presidential candidates, with so many dripping vitriol on anyone who isn’t their preferred choice. But it’s also expressed in what I see as a refusal to accept that many of the great issues we face are genuinely multifaceted, and two or more of those facets can be equally true.

For instance, as an artist I believe in capitalism and the free market as the best economic system we have: the ability to stand and fall based on public desire and the quality and effort you put into your work. But I also know that capitalism requires some measure of regulation–NOT socialism, but taxes and limitations–or else the gap between rich and poor grows so gigantic that the system collapses. Trickle-down economics, a theory that counted on human selflessness, has proved a failure because human selfishness is a greater urge.

I believe that racism is a driving force in the institutions of law and justice and needs to be seriously dealt with and offenders punished. It is a stain on our character and a burden we must work together to erase. I also know there are countless police officers who truly serve, protect, and risk their lives for their communities. Neither condition invalidates the other.

I know many people, my Uncle Tom being one, who own guns for recreational usage and are pillars of responsibility and clear-headedness. I also know the current laws regarding guns are creating an epidemic of needless destruction and need to be changed.

I struggle with the moral dimensions of abortion in some cases. I also know that it is not my decision to ever make, and that abortion is a legal human right which sometimes is absolutely necessary and needs to be defended. And I definitely know that one’s feelings about abortion should never be used to deny the right…and the right for basic health care…to any woman. Period.

Finally, I am an avid reader of history who has spent much of the past seven months devouring Will and Ariel Durant’s The Story of Civilization. It has reminded me that all history runs in cycles of certain ideologies rising and falling while the basics of humanity stay the same. What is left today will be right tomorrow and vice versa. And I read these histories knowing we have tried in this country, and mostly succeeded, to create a republic that endures. This allows me to face any political situation with calm and optimism. But I also know that this is a privilege given to me as a white, Christian, heterosexual, cisgendered male and those who do not share these traits have it far, far worse in ways I can never fully understand. This knowledge, as you will see in my post on Yankee Smartass, imposes on me the duty to work how I can for the benefit of others. As a person with a conscience and a follower of Christ, it is an imperative that experience has taught me to take seriously.

My uncle would agree with some of what I’ve written above and disagree with other parts of it. I respect that, because he and I have come from different frames of reference. Instead of dwelling on that, I would like to end with one other story about him.

Almost two decades ago, Uncle Tom came to one of our family reunions with his Honda motorcycle in tow and he insisted on giving me a ride. I’d always been fascinated by motorcycles but at the same time I was nervous; this was when roller coasters still terrified me. Still, I strapped on a helmet, we went cruising through the suburbs, and I remember the care he took with every maneuver, every acceleration, every turn. I never felt unsafe, and by the end of our journey I was overcome with a sensation of powerful liberation.

That joyride is impressed on my mind and is recalled every time I think of Uncle Tom. It was, in its way, an act of love, and he has always, no matter what his port of call or current aim is, given boundless love to his family and friends and made them feel it. He is no different in this from my father, my mother, my aunts and other uncles. He taught me that the power of love is enough to create something that lasts. It can be a memory. It can be a legacy that affects a multitude.

I try to live my life with that love pulsating through every inch of my being, and to use it to understand others, to support others, to demonstrate that even if their lives and beliefs are different from mine, I truly think those beliefs are meaningful and I know their lives matter and they must have chance to live them to the fullest of their potential. I can do no less. I have an example that guides me.

Top Ten Movies of 2015 – and More

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Hello everyone! I got caught up in writing the first draft of my novel, currently 206 pages and counting, and my work here got a little pushed to the side, but there are now many ideas that don’t fit in my other media which I need to explore.

One of the pleasures of 2015 was writing regular film reviews for The Addison Recorder. I don’t know how many people read them, but it was wonderful engaging with cinema on such a level and feeling that engagement shape my own fictions. And with the year over, it is time to make the first of these lists I feel really accurate setting down since 2008, when I was again spending almost every week at movies, searching for something I couldn’t fully put into words that I wanted to shape me.

2015 was a topsy-turvy year for America, and I don’t want to say that cinema reacted specifically to that because films like these were developed for years, but I was moved by how many terrific films spoke to some recurrent themes: the triumph of the human spirit. The capacity to do the right things in the face of opposition. The confrontation of our ability to change.

There was an additional quality this year that was summed up by my fellow writer/artist Leigh Yenrick, who saw half the films on this list with me (and who I thank for joining me in some heady emotional waters…I owe her much more joyous pictures in the future). The themes of 2015 came across all the more because, as she put it, there were so many simple stories that were incredibly well-told. Almost any human being can relate to the visceral excitement of a car chase or the perceived comfort of everyday married life, but when the stories surrounding these are told by people who have poured thought, emotion, and the hard and necessary work of construction into them (for both the story of a film and the making of a film require juggling a Whitmanian multitude of parts), we as an audience receive the rare thrill of experiencing a new perspective, deeper understanding, and a sense that the world is not the same for us after leaving our seat, that we have new standards and expect more, from film and from life.

Introduction’s over. Some of these films are on Redbox, Netflix, and HBO GO/NOW. Some are still in theaters or will be back in time for Oscar. Let yourself have an experience. Without further ado…

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