Fragments of history

I've been watching this movie[^] again. I say that like it's the second time but it's actually about the 13th time. Indeed, only one night has passed since I borrowed it from the Phoenix Public library that I haven't watched it. For me, it's that good!

My wife is long since inured to the idea that I enjoy odd movies; when I told her that Friday night I hadn't watched it she laughed. As for why I didn't watch it Friday, I was watching this movie[^] instead and you can only watch so many movies a night!

Wait, you say, how is it possible that I watched it tonight when I'm on a different continent? Well my DVD travelled with me of course. I must admit to taking a perverse pleasure in being an Australian in France watching a 1928 Soviet movie with a soundtrack written in 2002 by an Englishman.

So why does an ancient movie fascinate me so? I hope the title gives it away. If the movie was made in 1928 it's about 30 years older than almost all my oldest memories yet it's well within the time frame of things my grandparents talked about. Actually, it's mostly what my fathers mother talked about; my mothers parents seemed singularly taciturn about anything that happened to them before the age of 50. My fathers father died in 1942 so it's not surprising that I don't remember him talking about anything at all!

Not that she talked about life in Odessa. She talked about the times she'd lived through. I can vividly remember mishearing my grandmother talking about the time the 'wall' broke out and envisioning a brick wall collapsing. Later I realised she'd meant the 'war'.

My grandmother had the wonderful ability to talk about what she'd lived through without a trace of self pity; nor did she try and make it into a grand heroic adventure. She just told it the way she had seen it. Not once do I remember her serving up a wonderful meal whilst trying to make me feel ungrateful for her sacrifice. I do remember the wonderful meals!

And one other thing I remember of my grandmother, something I will always revere her for. She had an immense interest in whatever happened in the world. I can remember her taking me outside in October 1957 to lie upon the ground and stare at the night sky. We were watching for Sputnik and I can remember her taking a childlike delight in seeing that tiny dot fly far overhead. It meant far more to that 66 year old woman than it did to the 4 year old child by her side.

So, whilst I have no connection whatsoever with Soviet History so far as I know, I find it immensely interesting. I can't watch this movie without wondering at the faces; who found themselves in the Gulag and who didn't. Who was a party member and who wasn't? There are faces that I recognise only I cannot. One who looks exactly like my cousin but can't be; one who looks exactly like my grandmother and who might have been.

My grandmother has been dead these 39 years but as long as I can still picture her in my my mind she's not completely dead. And, I hope, as long as you can read my poor tribute to her and picture a feisty old woman intensely interested in life, she won't be completely dead.

And that is the final reason why I like old movies like that. They show us fragments of history. It's up to us to put them into context.