Last night I watched A Single Man again. I’m already on record exclaiming at what a beautiful movie it is. Visually it’s fantastic, with vivid colours and great angles. It is a work of artistic vision, very personal I suspect, and so often very clever. There’s a knowingness that is true both for technique and content. It feels so real, and at the same time, so true – different things. Some of that is simple, such as the light, and the neighbourhood, familiar to me at least as someone who grew up in a similar world in far
Some of that is simple, such as the light, and the neighbourhood, familiar to me at least as someone who grew up in a similar world in far away Oz. Of course, the truth goes far deeper than that. This is a movie that charts human emotion in the most poignant way. Certainly I, watching it, recognised much that hitherto was set aside in some dark internal place. Movies such as this, and great art in general, bring such things to the surface. They touch on the universal in such a way that is new to us, reminding us of the depth of things we overlook in the busy act of just living. For me, experiencing such things, there is a bracing reminder that that’s what I want, in fact, that’s what is meaningful even in such a melancholy film as this. To feel deeply, truly, both the razor’s edge and the sublime.
Watching, there is a heart-rending scene early in the film that made me think of the looming same-sex marriage plebiscite here in Australia. George has just heard on the phone that his dearly loved partner has died in a car accident. He is undone, but holds it together in a very British way while talking to the far away cousin of his partner. George is lucky to be told at all, and it is clear that the family view his connection with shame – it is only this cousin, Ackerly, who has been decent enough to do the right thing. George inquires about the service, and is told that the service is for ‘family only’. He is not wanted there. Though George has shared his life for 16 years with their son, he is not of the family, and is an embarrassment they want nothing to do with. It is truly awful, if not downright ugly.
George must mourn alone, without even the solace of a service to bid goodbye to the person he has loved above all else. He is bereft, without even the comfort of the dogs they shared and loved so much – they too were victims of the accident. He has gone from perfect happiness to devastated isolation in the course of a short phone call.
This scene to me is a neat parable illustrating what we are voting for next month. Everyone is capable of love, and in our willful hearts, there is no division between love for someone of a different, or same sex. Love is independent of us all and can’t be legislated on. Where we do discriminate is how we recognise that love, and it’s that legislation we come to battle over. This story is all about recognition. The right to recognise the love and relationship of two people regardless of whether they are of same or different sex, indeed, the opportunity to celebrate it. It is
This story is all about recognition. The right to recognise the love and relationship of two people regardless of whether they are of same or different sex, indeed, the opportunity to celebrate it. It is time we reached out to say that you are as equal as us, and what you feel for your partner is no different in nature from what we feel for ours. Any argument to the contrary seems ugly and bitter and just downright wrong. A no vote cannot be abided.
Who in their heart would deny George his grief, or indeed, his love? It is a truth that can no longer be ignored.