(3) "At Last," the final filmed Patrick Melrose installment, doesn't work. It gives us a hammy kiss between Patrick and Mary; I'm sure this repelled Edward St. Aubyn. Without the brilliance of St. Aubyn's prose, the story, such as it is, falls apart. That said, I very much enjoyed the final flashback to young Patrick, when he tells his dad to stop raping him. This isn't in the book, and yet it's an effective tip of the hat to Patrick's stunning courage and resilience--a constant, through all the stories--and a nice way of suggesting that Patrick can ("at last") feel new compassion for himself, instead of fury, at the ripe old age of forty or forty-five.
At the very least, this series gets credit for bringing readers back to the original books. Rereading a few, these past several weeks, I really loved when Patrick reflects on what it means to "do nothing." (You can't do nothing, because the very notion of "doing" is generative, is active. To "do" is to do something. Patrick thinks about this, then, like Alice in Wonderland, he dances with his children, making a ring around a table "laden with cakes and tea.") I also loved Patrick "changing his mind." Because that's why you have a mind. "That's what it's for." (These are novels about metaphysics and consciousness. They're about the idea of having a mind--as much as they are about a specific family drama. The first installment is called "Never Mind"--for a reason. All of this is clearer in the books than in the miniseries.)
(2) "Hereditary" may not be a triumph, but it gives you Toni Colette soliloquizing about her suicidal father, and about how she never wanted the children she has, and about how she once tried to drown her family in lighter fluid. (You also get a Toni Colette "I can't believe my daughter is decapitated" scene.) And Ms. Colette delivers--over and over again. Gay men everywhere know this--intuitively. You don't go for the horror. You go for Toni Colette.
(1) What follows is strictly fictional. I have a certain friend. For two years, she has worked a job that has caused her a modest, incessant, low hum of irritation. Somewhere around month 16.5, she discovered an article in "Psychology Today." It makes some points she might have discovered sooner, if she had been more conscious in her twenties. For example: Irritability is contagious, so, if you are around an irritated person, it makes sense to make every effort to walk away. Also: If you're feeling irritated, the goal is to feel compassion for yourself, rather than for the person who is aggravating you. (It's like the oxygen masks on a plane. You need to make sure that you yourself are getting oxygen--before you deal with the clown next to you.)
Additionally: Count your blessings. After month 16.5, when she found herself on the phone with a feckless c*nt, my friend would will herself to see an image of her dog's face. And this helped. Another thing she observed: When some bit of intractable madness is plaguing you, it's useful to think, "Time will dry it out like carrion." Time heals everything--almost. And my friend is grateful to have been compelled to think all these thoughts (slowly, over time.) https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-squeaky-wheel/201510/7-quick-ways-stop-being-irritable
*P.S. One other thought about St. Aubyn. He was once speaking about his dad, who did indeed rape him. He was saying that his dad didn't have political power. If SA Sr. had been a prime minister, he surely would have destroyed several continents. But St. Aubyn says something deeply ironic about his father. He says: "Dad had a small canvas, but he worked wonders with it." In other words: SA Sr. didn't have prominence in the world, but he did accomplish a stunning amount of destruction just within the small space of his dreadful home. Edward St. Aubyn suggests that any interaction is a "canvas": You paint, you create, by your words and deeds. This moral seriousness gives even the tiniest chat, in "Melrose," a sense of electricity; things are "charged." This quality is unique to St. Aubyn and his work.
At the very least, this series gets credit for bringing readers back to the original books. Rereading a few, these past several weeks, I really loved when Patrick reflects on what it means to "do nothing." (You can't do nothing, because the very notion of "doing" is generative, is active. To "do" is to do something. Patrick thinks about this, then, like Alice in Wonderland, he dances with his children, making a ring around a table "laden with cakes and tea.") I also loved Patrick "changing his mind." Because that's why you have a mind. "That's what it's for." (These are novels about metaphysics and consciousness. They're about the idea of having a mind--as much as they are about a specific family drama. The first installment is called "Never Mind"--for a reason. All of this is clearer in the books than in the miniseries.)
(2) "Hereditary" may not be a triumph, but it gives you Toni Colette soliloquizing about her suicidal father, and about how she never wanted the children she has, and about how she once tried to drown her family in lighter fluid. (You also get a Toni Colette "I can't believe my daughter is decapitated" scene.) And Ms. Colette delivers--over and over again. Gay men everywhere know this--intuitively. You don't go for the horror. You go for Toni Colette.
(1) What follows is strictly fictional. I have a certain friend. For two years, she has worked a job that has caused her a modest, incessant, low hum of irritation. Somewhere around month 16.5, she discovered an article in "Psychology Today." It makes some points she might have discovered sooner, if she had been more conscious in her twenties. For example: Irritability is contagious, so, if you are around an irritated person, it makes sense to make every effort to walk away. Also: If you're feeling irritated, the goal is to feel compassion for yourself, rather than for the person who is aggravating you. (It's like the oxygen masks on a plane. You need to make sure that you yourself are getting oxygen--before you deal with the clown next to you.)
Additionally: Count your blessings. After month 16.5, when she found herself on the phone with a feckless c*nt, my friend would will herself to see an image of her dog's face. And this helped. Another thing she observed: When some bit of intractable madness is plaguing you, it's useful to think, "Time will dry it out like carrion." Time heals everything--almost. And my friend is grateful to have been compelled to think all these thoughts (slowly, over time.) https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-squeaky-wheel/201510/7-quick-ways-stop-being-irritable
*P.S. One other thought about St. Aubyn. He was once speaking about his dad, who did indeed rape him. He was saying that his dad didn't have political power. If SA Sr. had been a prime minister, he surely would have destroyed several continents. But St. Aubyn says something deeply ironic about his father. He says: "Dad had a small canvas, but he worked wonders with it." In other words: SA Sr. didn't have prominence in the world, but he did accomplish a stunning amount of destruction just within the small space of his dreadful home. Edward St. Aubyn suggests that any interaction is a "canvas": You paint, you create, by your words and deeds. This moral seriousness gives even the tiniest chat, in "Melrose," a sense of electricity; things are "charged." This quality is unique to St. Aubyn and his work.
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