Too close for comfort

Tonight is Monday Night Movie Night. Friday and Saturday, should Lady Moss be home, are saved for watching new flicks and the beginning of the week for revisiting old loves.

Its Lady’s choice and as I set to work flicking through the DVD cases there will always be two I will pause at to stroke each cover before moving on again with a pang. The most frustrating thing in the world, my all-time favourite movies also happen to be so heartbreakingly beautiful that I can never ever watch them again.

Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain and Tom Ford’s A Single Man, two of the most breathtaking films ever made, each nearly killed me the first time I saw them. The exquisite sadness, the haunting scores, so powerful that a few notes are enough to transport my memory back, to observe as I lay below on the bed sobbing from the painful pleasure of it all.

Poor Mossy has not seen Brokeback properly, he was on deadline the first time we saw it and has selected it for movie night again and again so that he can properly concentrate. I simply cannot bear the agony to force my heart to watch even once more and so he must miss out. Surely he could not suffer alone to see such a love lost without his Lady to provide solicitude and comfort.

Of course there are other films that have affected me greatly, and some are too grotesque or frightening to contemplate sitting through again acclaimed they maybe – The Road springs to mind or The Lovely Bones which I could not even contemplate viewing. But it is indeed a strange feeling to avoid art at all costs because it is too beautiful, too true a reflection of our own love story that to observe its destruction is to invite nightmares of the worst kind.

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