We go to the movies to be, well, moved. To have a sensory experience. To feel, in orderly sequence, mad, glad or sad. To identify with a hero, repulsed by a villain. A soundtrack carries us along, like leaves on a river. When the movie ends, we leave the cinema and go home. Where the movie continues but the sense of watching it disappears.
Life reminds me I’m no hero. Studying my reflection on a birthday card from my eldest daughter and son-in-law, I see I’m a smiling hedgehog in a conical party hat garlanded with flowers.
The word ‘victory’ is wasting away; it will not be revived. There are no victories, not ever and especially not now. Our techno-barbarism, our military parades, stand exposed and ridiculous. Today’s heroes flutter quietly, anonymously, through the halls of the sick and the dying.
The hallmark of the hero is his detachment. As life directs, he’s ready to go. Or not. In either case, he’s untethered to an agenda. His heart sings a song to itself.
“The true man is revealed in difficult times.”
“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”
It’s when things go wrong that stories are written and movies made.
Men's Work 