Read Online Laid Bare: Essays and Observations by Tom Judson - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom Judson
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perfect spot to rest and take in the view. When there is one. Yesterday there was nothing but clouds. I stared into the abyss. It was impossible to tell what was past the end of the outcropping: it might have been more rocks or it could have been just a sheer drop to the sea. I kept my distance from the edge.
Since I had no schedule, and to rest up for the equally taxing climb down, I wedged myself into a cleft in the boulder and took out my book, the mist and the wind making it almost chilly. I got through a couple of chapters when I found myself squinting and felt my face turn warm. The sun! I bolted upright and looked out onto an amazing panorama of most of Saba. There, far below me, was the town. To the right, the road to The Bottom. To the left Windwardside and the way down to the airport. Just as I reached into my pack for my camera, the clouds came back and obscured the view. Brigadoon-like, the vista had disappeared into the mists.
But for a brief moment, I had a view.
September 25, 1 A.M.
I’m not really into the miracle thing, okay? I mean, I’m a big ol’ atheist and all, so the concept doesn’t quite fit into my non-belief system. But I experienced a miracle tonight.
I just finished watching “Angels In America” on DVD. Bruce and I had seen it on Broadway. Neither of us liked it; we thought it was pretentious and silly. And there was enough acting going on up on that stage to fill three theaters. When that damn angel broke through the ceiling at the end of Part I it was all we could do to keep from giggling out of control.
So, fast-forward—what—10 years? You can imagine my skepticism upon hearing of the movie version. Yeah yeah yeah Mike Nichols was directing it and it had a cast that really doesn’t make sense because, since many of them are big stars, no one could afford them all. I suppose it had everything going for it, but, Bruce and I just hated it so much, how could it possibly be good?
I watched Part I last night and finished it off tonight with Part II.
And it was so good. I was practically crying at the opening credits as at the ethereal helicopter shot flying over America on a day when the entire country is experiencing weather from heaven— from heaven . At the end of the sequence the camera comes swooping down to the Bethesda Fountain (like the character in the story, one of my favorite spots in Central Park) and the whole movie just got better and better as the hours flew by.
What happened? Is it possible it was the production itself in the 1990s that left us cold? I mean, it’s the same story, and, from what I can recall, sticks very close to the original. Was it the acting? The day we saw it? Maybe what Bruce and I had for dinner beforehand stuck in our craw as much as the play. Gosh, it could just have been our seats.
I don’t have a theory on this one. I just know that Mike Nichols & Co. performed a bit of alchemy and transformed a piece I thoroughly despised into a long, long movie that moved me tremendously.
Miraculous though? Nah. That ain’t no miracle.
The miracle occurred while I was watching the end credits through tear-filled eyes. I’ve experienced this miracle before, but with decreasing frequency and not for a very long time. It wasn’t a long miracle. In fact, it lasted no longer than the time it took for a tiny little electrical charge in my brain that had been tripping along very nicely, thank you, to become distracted by something. A pesky lobe? A sunset over the left hemisphere? Who can say, really? Anyway, this electrical charge became distracted and hopped onto the wrong neuron!
And at that instant I thought to myself, “I have to remember to tell Bruce how good this movie was.”
And for that miraculously short length of time--so brief that scientists have no unit of measurement for it--Bruce
Since I had no schedule, and to rest up for the equally taxing climb down, I wedged myself into a cleft in the boulder and took out my book, the mist and the wind making it almost chilly. I got through a couple of chapters when I found myself squinting and felt my face turn warm. The sun! I bolted upright and looked out onto an amazing panorama of most of Saba. There, far below me, was the town. To the right, the road to The Bottom. To the left Windwardside and the way down to the airport. Just as I reached into my pack for my camera, the clouds came back and obscured the view. Brigadoon-like, the vista had disappeared into the mists.
But for a brief moment, I had a view.
September 25, 1 A.M.
I’m not really into the miracle thing, okay? I mean, I’m a big ol’ atheist and all, so the concept doesn’t quite fit into my non-belief system. But I experienced a miracle tonight.
I just finished watching “Angels In America” on DVD. Bruce and I had seen it on Broadway. Neither of us liked it; we thought it was pretentious and silly. And there was enough acting going on up on that stage to fill three theaters. When that damn angel broke through the ceiling at the end of Part I it was all we could do to keep from giggling out of control.
So, fast-forward—what—10 years? You can imagine my skepticism upon hearing of the movie version. Yeah yeah yeah Mike Nichols was directing it and it had a cast that really doesn’t make sense because, since many of them are big stars, no one could afford them all. I suppose it had everything going for it, but, Bruce and I just hated it so much, how could it possibly be good?
I watched Part I last night and finished it off tonight with Part II.
And it was so good. I was practically crying at the opening credits as at the ethereal helicopter shot flying over America on a day when the entire country is experiencing weather from heaven— from heaven . At the end of the sequence the camera comes swooping down to the Bethesda Fountain (like the character in the story, one of my favorite spots in Central Park) and the whole movie just got better and better as the hours flew by.
What happened? Is it possible it was the production itself in the 1990s that left us cold? I mean, it’s the same story, and, from what I can recall, sticks very close to the original. Was it the acting? The day we saw it? Maybe what Bruce and I had for dinner beforehand stuck in our craw as much as the play. Gosh, it could just have been our seats.
I don’t have a theory on this one. I just know that Mike Nichols & Co. performed a bit of alchemy and transformed a piece I thoroughly despised into a long, long movie that moved me tremendously.
Miraculous though? Nah. That ain’t no miracle.
The miracle occurred while I was watching the end credits through tear-filled eyes. I’ve experienced this miracle before, but with decreasing frequency and not for a very long time. It wasn’t a long miracle. In fact, it lasted no longer than the time it took for a tiny little electrical charge in my brain that had been tripping along very nicely, thank you, to become distracted by something. A pesky lobe? A sunset over the left hemisphere? Who can say, really? Anyway, this electrical charge became distracted and hopped onto the wrong neuron!
And at that instant I thought to myself, “I have to remember to tell Bruce how good this movie was.”
And for that miraculously short length of time--so brief that scientists have no unit of measurement for it--Bruce
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