Friday, 9 November 2012
That bit in blade runner, near the end, when the menacing blond replicant says 'time to die'. It always makes me cry, even though he's been nonchalantly bumping people off all through the film, and it's corny with the doves.
I went to another funeral yesterday, not in a post-modern nightmare futuristic vision, just in our local church. It was for one of our neighbours; a man of respectable age to pass on — 84.
I cried, not huge sobs, a few tears. I could never work for a funeral directors, or be a priest, I don't know how they all remain so placid looking. The priest was a master of calm benevolent reflection; possibly he controls himself by thinking about lunch, or what time star academy was scheduled for that evening. I suppose once you've done a few hundred funerals you become immune to the tears rising.
The worst bit was when all the elderly soldiers paraded down the isle with the huge regiment flags, I had to study the carvings and soaring stone arches very hard at that point.
Yes the man was old, yes he was good to his family, yes he was a war hero etc, but I know he wanted to do more, he just ran out of time, energy and eyesight.
We used to chat while walking the dogs. He was in the army and police force from late teens onwards, but his real passion was painting. His house was full of his work, technically clever, rather chocolate box, but a lot of latent ideas roaming about. He asked me where I got my ideas from. obviously wishing to go further than the still lives he produced. I wonder what his life would have been had he been born in a different era, when he might have gone to art college, or used his talent for his work rather than a hobby.