I have a way of seeing
connections between things which some think odd. But it’s not my issue if people’s brains work
differently.
The last two movies I’ve seen
at the cinema have reminded me hugely of two dear friends called Fiona and of our experiences
around fear. Your loved ones don’t often
know when you are thinking of them and missing them on the other side of the
world – ‘little Fiona’ in Brisbane and ‘the other Fiona’ in LA – so I figure I
may as well write a blog about them as anyone else.
The films I’m referring to
were superbly made and highly recommended: Rush
directed by Ron Howard, and Captain
Phillips directed by Paul Greengrass.
Both these craftsmen know how to make a great movie which girls as well
as guys love, because they have human nuance and compelling narrative as well
as thrilling action and speed. I don’t
even like Formula One and I was engaged by Rush
from the earliest frames. And anyone connected with the making of the brilliant
Bourne Trilogy and I’m hooked. So Howard and
Greengrass: in your enormous fields of achievement these were exceptional
efforts. Thank you!
As it happens I’ve never
taken speed. Apart from health or legal
concerns I have absolutely no need. It’d
be like giving uppers to the Eveready Bunny.
But these films made my blood pump.
Glued to the seat, all other realities evaporated as I utterly suspended
my disbelief and sank into the drama. At
the end I felt like I’d been running a marathon and was desperate to get
outside into London
So what is it about fear
which is so simultaneously frightening and compelling? I’ve sky-dived, scuba-dived, heli-skied and
fallen out of a white-water raft in a most inconvenient rocky river
The element which really
made my heart pound in Captain Phillips
is the lifeboat. That small capsule with
a lid was far more frightening to me than the pirates or the prospect of a
bullet. I could intensely feel the heat
and lack of air, to the point that I had to repeatedly concentrate on slowing
my own breathing. How can one survive
such a long journey so confined? It was
torture. How do people in prison cope
with four close walls, especially those thrown into dark dungeons without trial
or justice? All through the film I kept
thanking God for Amnesty International and promising I’d give them some more
money. (Can someone please hold me to that so I don’t forget?)
Of course, Hanks’ brilliant
performance and the director’s intense building of tension are sufficient
provocateurs, but my projected fears enlarged the experience. I am a little claustrophobic. For years I’ve had a recurring dream I am
trapped in a box or a cupboard. And time
and again I’ve woken up banging the wall behind the bed trying to get out.
In life I do whatever I can
to avoid peak-hour public transport, especially undergrounds. On planes it isn’t crashing which freaks me
out, but rather waking up in an overheated cabin with insufficient oxygen. Occasionally this has threatened a mini panic-attack,
but thankfully it only seems to happen in economy; which is great incentive to
fly at the front of the bus.
Anyway thoughts about “facing
one’s fears” brings me to my friend, Fiona.
When we flatted together in
Bondi in our fun-filled, wonderfully courageous, it’s-all-ahead-of-you 20s,
Fiona would confront any hesitance or fear she felt, by saying “there’s nothing
to fear except fear itself”. I’m
inclined to forget Franklin D. Roosevelt and attribute this phrase to Fiona,
for I never hear it without thinking fondly of her.
Now fast-forward to the Mediterranean in 2009 when I’m showing ‘little Fiona’
around the Cinque Terre. Setting out on
the coastal walk from Monterosso
al Mare to Vernazza, I call out:
“Walk at your own pace, Fifi, you can’t get lost, there’s only one path… I’ll
wait for you somewhere on a rock”. The
wind is whistling, a delightful breeze tickles the pre-midday leaves, and
hundreds of metres below steep cliffs I find the sound of crashing waves
utterly invigorating. Various parts of
the path are infamously narrow and rocky but I’m in my element – out in the
world, fit and free, luxuriating in the sights and smells of my beloved Italy
Some time later I am perched
in shade admiring the infamous blues of this great sea, and I hear footsteps
approach. Turning around with my
lemonade (a treat offered by neighbours on route made from delicious local
lemons) my sweet but somewhat pale-looking friend walks slowly toward me. “What’s the matter?” I ask, bewildered. “It’s really high, Julie” she says with more
shock than malice. She then adds quietly:
“I think you’ve forgotten I’m afraid of heights.” OMG, I had COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN. What a dreadful friend – a most awful thing
to do to someone who has travelled half way across the world to visit you!
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry” followed, but the girl with the most
generous nature in the world would hear none of it: “But I did it” she said humbly. “I was scared. Especially the difficult parts when I thought
I was going to slip off the edge. But I
did it. I took my time and I was fine” What can you do but hug a girl like
that?! I love her to bits, then and
now. And after a refreshing glass of lemonade
we continued the walk to Vernazza, wandering
quietly and contentedly together – the making of a very precious memory.
Now I’m thinking of ‘the
other Fiona’, which is how I distinguished my L.A. Sweden
The point about fear is
this: Fiona and I were taken by each of these hot, racing-car drivers out for a
spin on the enormous lake. Scream? Are you kidding – it’s a wonder you didn’t
hear us in London
Adrenalin pumped. Curiosity peaked. So much so I had to stop screaming and ask
questions – while still the car spun, sped, reversed and raced while the driver
calmly informed me about things I previously never thought interesting. In love with everything Audi, everything
fast, and everything stimulating, we returned to the Ice Bar for more
vodka. The anecdote has followed me
around the world never failing to amuse.
And this fond and familiar sensation tugged at my heart during every
scene of Ron Howard’s brilliantly rendered, Rush.
OK, my thrilling European
Rally Car had a proper roof. I am still
terrified of the risk Formula One drivers face with burns and injuries and the
sheer insane noise of it. But if my
racing-car story is not about overcoming fear, it is certainly about embracing it.
Rewards are all the richer,
whatever the activity or goal, if we face the risks and do it anyway. So thank God for friends, for my pals Fiona,
and for films and experiences which take us out and beyond ourselves.
