In many ways getting old is like getting rich. It doesn’t change you, just exaggerates what you already are. I’m already deficient in face recognition. I used to notice it in the movies. If there were two or more actresses with similar hairstyle or color, I was never sure which character was which. Now it’s crossed gender lines and I can’t tell anyone who looks similar in the movies, like they all come from central casting. Maybe that’s why I don’t like “period” movies, ones that are set in a different time or place, where the costumes are accurate to the era, but confusingly the same style.
We try to go to the movies once a week. Further, we try to see small movies, documentaries and foreign flicks, movies that are experimental or have a limited appeal. Generally, if I’ve heard of the star, I look for another movie. Of course there’s the odd times when we see movies with friends, that’s the time for mainstream cinema.
So we went to see Amelia. It was okay, it looks like they spent a lot of money on pretty scenes, but there was no heart. The next week we saw the Men Who Stare At Goats. It was funny and I liked the dialog. On the way home Deb is telling me that she liked Ewan McGregor’s role in Amelia, but didn’t think the guy he played in Goats helped the movie any. I didn’t realize he was in both movies. So I ask, “Who’d he play in Amelia?” “He played the boyfriend” I drew a blank. “The guy she had an affair with and they flew around together…” I was a bit embarrassed, but I had no idea who she was talking about. When I got home I Googled stills from the movie and couldn’t pick him out or figure out who he was in the movie. There was one scene I remembered where he was prominent, but I couldn’t distinguish him from one still to the next. This isn’t good for his career or mine, after all, I paint portraits.
So I’m thinking about this latest affliction and I remember years ago I had taken a young lady to dinner. I didn’t date a lot and certainly had no polish in this activity, but when I returned from a bathroom visit, I had no idea which table to return to, no one looked familiar. So I made the rounds, saying “Hey, how you doin’” to every table, “Everything goin’ good tonight? Alright”, until I got to a table where a young lady says, “Gee, you’re a gregarious one.” So I figured that was my table and finished up the date quickly so I could get back to the bar. Maybe back then my obsession with “disorienting the senses” played a role in the homogenization of strangers, but I haven’t had a drink in almost eighteen years and yet people still look strikingly unfamiliar.
