So This Is How Rivers Carve Canyons

I watched a movie yesterday that I really enjoyed when it first came out in 1999.  It was "The Thomas Crowne Affair", starring Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo.  I rented it from Blockbuster because I had been thinking about the plot lately, and how cleverly the art heist had been orchestrated and then resolved.  But an interesting thing happened as I watched the movie for the second time, some eleven years after first seeing it – I didn't think it was that great anymore.

Now, how can this happen?  The movie hadn't changed; it still centered on a self-made billionaire (Mr. Brosnan) who amuses himself by stealing paintings from the Met in New York, and the equally self-made insurance investigator (Ms. Russo) who is determined to prove he did it.  There were clearly two plot lines.  The art heist, and how the return of the painting would be resolved; and the budding romance between the staunchly single billionaire and just as staunchly single insurance adjustor.  Romance is too tame a word, actually.  No sooner has a priceless Monet been lifted than the two of them are chasing each other around spectacularly opulent bedrooms and staircases in exotic locations all over the world, making crazed love to each other.  (In one scene, Ms. Russo pours vodka over the head of Mr. Brosnan straight from the bottle, spurring him to redouble his efforts at ravishing her.  If I was making love to someone, and they poured vodka over my head in the middle of it, I don't think the effect would be to increase my desire.  But who am I to knock it?  I'm not a self-made billionaire, and he used to be James Bond.)

If the movie hadn't changed, that just left me.  I found that I still liked the art heist plot, and thought it was just as clever as it had been the previous decade.  The romance plot, though, rang so hollow that it was distracting.  This had nothing to do with the actors, by the way.  If Mr. Brosnan and Ms. Russo weren't as talented as they are, the story would have failed because of the implausibility of the two of them hooking up at all.  It was the writing that made me groan, the clunky dialogue and clumsy attempts to be seductively clever that fell flat.  The final line of the movie is delivered by Ms. Russo to Mr. Brosnan, after a passionate reconciliation onboard a jumbo jet crossing the Atlantic:  "If you ever try anything like that again, I'll break both your arms."  Not exactly, "We'll always have Paris," or, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

What I found myself thinking about after I'd turned off the DVD player was that when I had first watched the movie, I hadn't noticed any of this.  I thought the dialogue was just fine, that the two of them had insanely hot chemistry, and the whole movie was one that I wanted to own and watch over and over, being enthralled every time.  So what had happened in the last ten years?

The simple answer, of course, is that I have had ten years to read more, watch more, and experience more of life, and my standards for what constitutes good writing have risen in the process.  In that time, I've written three novels as well (Flesh Wound is the only one published to date), and that experience has taught me to be a better writer, and to expect others to be, as well.

The funny thing is I don't feel any different than I did ten years ago.  There are markers at points in your life that have the capacity to freeze in time the person you were when you passed them, and sometimes you have the chance to look at back those markers when you are further down the road and see who you must have been at the time.  (Movies are great for this, as is music.  Songs I thought were amazing when I was in college don't always impress me the same way when I hear them now.)  It is only then that you are able to measure the difference between that person and who you are now.

And that is how rivers carve canyons.  If you walk past the river each day, you don't notice any change in its course or where the banks lie.  If you walk past the river once, then come back in ten years and walk past it again, you notice how the path has changed and how the surrounding cliffs are just a bit higher than they used to be.  Let enough time go by, and you find yourself in the Grand Canyon.  But I guess that is the point of life, isn't it?  And the canyon walls are quite beautiful.

Have a terrific holiday!  I won't be blogging again until the 27th, so until then be well and read something that makes you notice your own canyon walls, and make sure you appreciate their beauty.  Thanks for reading!  -Jon