"I will catch a cold."-- the doctor in Washington Square
In
some sense of the word, but for happenstance, we all end our lives as patients
, whether its Antonin
Scalia in his upscale lodge, or David
Miranda emaciating away due to intestinal inflammation particular to the
southern latitudes, as if homosexual indigenous pair bondings with American Caucasians
simply cannot be original enough, always involving some fire of the body. Is
happenstance any better? A distant cousin I only greeted at family gatherings,
named Bryan, died in a manufacturing accident where he worked, one of those
disasters of circumstance which catches everyone off guard, vanished. Whether
Jake Sully does the same, in Avatar, is what I have been turning over to try to
make a blockbuster two decades old relevant from another perspective. Is he a
terminal patient who prolapses Pandora into the Walt Disney version of a
patrician paradise? In recollecting the controversy surrounding the movie in
its original release date, David Brooks analysis was off a notch. Sully wasn’t
better at being native than the Na’vi; he was simply more attuned to taking
risks, like a young Darth Vader, who, you might remember, was a good Jedi in
the skirmish which took his hand in the Star Wars prequel. Although a
conscientious viewer cannot help but be transfixed by Cameron’s futurist cowboys
and indians battle, Sigourney Weaver’s overacting is a predictable keystroke; for
the moment, this leaves me with nothing more to add.
