I've been trying to remember the first time I discovered Albert Camus. By the time I got mid-sentence, boom! remembered. How could I forget? It was a brief scene in that incredible movie I can never remember the title to, the one about the angels. Hold on a second, grabbing my phone to look it up. Oh yeah, here we go: Wings of Desire.
Incredible movie! Actually, the story of how I found that movie is an interesting anecdote in itself. Years ago, back in the days of VHS, I was in Big Lots, scanning the 4.99 movies. When I saw the title, I was surprised because it sound like a porno, and I knew Big Lots wouldn't sell something like that. On a whim, I bought it. At the time, I was working at a group home, taking care of mentally challenged folks. I watched it one night after they went to bed. I wound up sitting crosslegged on the floor in front of the big television screen, utterly mesmerized. I had seen the US copy-cat movie with Nicholas Cage, and while it had beautiful moments, this original art film was a work of cinematic art. The story of silent watchers, quiet angels in classic, elegant modern clothes, guiding humanity throughout their daily lives was fascinating; even more so when a watcher falls in love with human girl, and spends a day with her in the here and now. The story was compelling, but the artistry of the production was unforgettable. It was like stepping into a living scrapbook of the best Time Life photography, see the photos come alive with drama, and the introspective window into the thoughts of those who walked and breathed and spoke, laughed and wept. Most of the scenes are shot in black and white. However, when the angel sees the girl, her beauty transforms his spiritual reality, color floods in. He enters spacetime, and it becomes all color again. What's also fascinating is the movie is German, and it explores such themes as the holocaust and the Berlin wall. It's very well done. Even the angel crossing over into our dimension, he comes in through the wall.
But Wings of Desire did more than captivate my imagination. It was infused not only with imagery, but the most incredble words. These words flowed like a river, a stream of consciousness that wove a silver cord through the dialogue and scenes to forge a powerful poetic and philosophical vision. Perhaps it was synchronicity, but I had also just disovered Terrence Malick's work at that time. The Thin Red Line prescribed to a similar technique. Powerful, often subtle images linked to quiet, well-spoken words. I walked away astounded.
I later discovered Wings of Desire had used the poetry of Rainer Marie Rilke. A year later, in Iraq, sitting on a bunk in Ramadi, I remembered Wings of Desire, read his poetry with the sound of blackhawks overhead and gunfire crackling in the city. It took me longer to get to Camus. It was a sad scene, a dying motorcylist's frantic thoughts, until the angel kneels next to him, places his hands over his head, and whispers a litany of beautiful things that calm the man. One of these was, "Albert Camus". It was only a single short scene, but it was enough to awaken my fascination: Who IS Camus??
https://www.youtube.com/shared?ci=108TCYQQFFg
Years later, I held onto his famous quote like a life-preserver. I thought, surely Camus has the strongest faith I have ever seen. What amazed me was he was known as an atheist, although I would call him a transcendental existentialist. My faith at the time was very degraded. I was cynical, tired, and not in the mood for trite aphorisms. Camus really resonated with me, and I saw his courage of acknowleging the dreadful absurdity that plagues our world while still engaging his hope for humanity. I saw that some of the greatest heroes, the bravest Soldiers are often just as terrified as the rest of us; it's that they choose to step out into the storm. They are not stronger than us, they act without guarentee of positive outcome. Some of them die, but many of them live.
On my own journey, I discovered many facets of Invincible Summer. For me, life WAS winter. That's all it was, for years.
