Sibling Tragedy

As the media sought to satisfy our morbid curiosity about the Boston Marathon bombers, my mind kept drifting to the fact that these were brothers.  It is another layer of tragedy on an already depressing event.

Tolstoy's insight is applicable here: "All happy families are alike.  But all unhappy families are unhappy in their own way."  In the best families, siblings will make an effort to encourage one another to be better.  They will resist the natural tendency to try to drag others down to their level, or to attempt to find comfort by sharing a weakness.  Where genuine love exists, one is willing to sacrifice personally to motivate and inspire his brothers and sisters to be better and happier people .  Often this is simply a matter of setting an unwavering example, which is at once the most effective and challenging teaching tool known to man.

 It should be the same with friends.  I visited a boy in jail on Sunday--I'll call him Jason.  He was doing a favor for a friend, giving him a ride.  His friend did something stupid and Jason is now facing multiple felony charges.  His friend failed to appreciate and respect the impact he could have on Jason.  He didn't care enough to act in Jason's best interest.  Instead, he was self-centered, with tragic consequences.

And the principle holds true with spouses as well. In the most successful marriages, each is caring enough to want the very best for her or his spouse.  They will both elevate their characters, not simply in a quest for self-improvement, but as a product of love and devotion, a sacrifice freely given, without promise, but with hope.

Somewhere along the way these young men in Boston lost sight of brotherly love.  Instead, they allowed the curable disease of hate to spread virally, from brother to brother, with fatal consequences.


 

From Joe Gould

During my morning workout I was watching Joe Gould's Secret, a movie I saw at Sundance 13 years ago (co-written, directed by and starring Stanley Tucci--who did not make it to the premiere due to the birth of one of this children).

The movie was based on a book and articles about an extraordinary New York bohemian in the '50's who claimed to have written an oral history of the world--transcriptions of what everyday people said in conversation.  In talking about his history (which was never discovered, and probably never existed), he reflects on his obsession:

"The Oral History is my roof, my scaffold.  My bed, my board.  My wife, my floozy.  My wound and the salt on it.  My whiskey, my aspirin.  My rock, my salvation.  It's the only thing that matters a damn to me.  All else is dross."

Reality and judgment aside, I thought is was a beautifully written and touching line.  Joe Gould is played in this wonderful and moving film by Ian Holm.

Roger Ebert

I was sad to hear that Roger Ebert died.  Our lives intersected a few times over the years.  I used to see him at the Sundance Film Festival.  He'd always go to the weekend premieres at the Eccles Theatre and sit in the same seat, like he was superstitious.

I first met him when I was CEO of ClearPlay and embroiled in battles with the studios.  I introduced myself between movies in the Eccles lobby and we talked about the ClearPlay concept.  After some discussion, he asked to take my picture, which surprised me.  It was a new camera and he hadn't quite figured out how to operate it, so it took him several takes to finally get it right.  All the while we were the focus of attention in the lobby.  Everyone recognized Roger, but had no idea who I was, although the mere fact that Roger Ebert was taking my picture gave me an assumed, if undeserved, celebrity status. 

The next morning in his column in the Chicago Sun-Times Roger referred to me as "a candidate for the most hated man in Hollywood."  (It was a moniker that followed me around for some time, and turned out to be good for publicity!) 

That morning I ran into him again at the Yarrow Hotel.  He had just finished breakfast with Darryl Hannah.  I had read his column and so went up to him with a laugh.  He protested that he thought he had been fair.  Then he introduced me to Darryl Hannah.  (I'm not often starstruck, but when the tall comely blonde extended her hand and said "I'm Darryl," I was quite tongue-tied.)  Anyway, I figured that introduction more than compensated for any negativity in Roger's column.

Also in the column he mentioned that the previous night he was asked to take a picture of Bob Dylan, who was there for the premiere of his most awful movie, "Masked and Anonymous."  (He co-wrote it with Larry Charles--it was really quite bad.)  So now I have two connections to Dylan--we both grew up in Northern Minnesota and we've been on the same roll of film.

I'd see Roger again at Sundance every year.  He was masterful talking about movies.  And occasionally I'd ask him about one--I recall us discussing Southern Comfort, about a rural southern transsexual community that we both found fascinating.  

He was an extraordinary scholar of cinema history.  His voiceover commentary on one of my favorite movies, Casablanca, is really wonderful and has deepened my appreciation for the classic film.   It was sad to see him suffer so badly the past few years, and he has not been to Sundance in quite a while.  He will be missed.