The Legend of 1900
Last night we watched The Legend of 1900. It was a very moving film about a boy born on a boat, abandoned as a baby on a boat, raised on a boat, lives on a boat, and dies on a boat. But it’s about more than that. It’s about perspective, how we get used to seeing the world one way only, and think that’s the way it has to be. The folks who come and go on the ship don’t think twice about what they see when they get off—just another city, with streets and buildings and people. But when 1900 sees it, he sees too much to handle. But conversely, one of the greatest scenes of the film is when Max is having a very hard time getting his sea legs, and 1900 sits down at the piano and takes the brakes off. He takes Max on a ride with his music all around the ballroom, and down the hallway. For him, the music, the swell, is a normal part of life, not some extraordinary adventure. He was a simple man who was amazingly attuned to the people around him, and more able to express himself through his music than through his face or words.
There were two things that I thought of during this movie: How much I miss the ocean and being at sea, and how emotional it is to be connected to place. I was bawling like a baby at the end of this movie. When we’re not distracted by so much day-to-day in our lives, we can be given a glimpse into the future, into the reality of our relationships, and our place in it.
Hollywood, you’re bad for me. Amazingly, greatly, desperately bad for me.