I'm going to abandon technical analysis for a moment and talk about how I'm feeling. Yeah. Whoa. Reading A Single Man left me feeling sad and sentimental. How did it do that? I couldn't see any of the characters' faces. I couldn't hear their voices or their sniffles as they cried. How, then, were these written words able to produce such distinct emotions without these visible and audible stimuli? There is much to be learned from an Oscar-nominated screenplay.
We'll start with the basics. Lost love is universally relatable, whether directly or vicariously, and the death of a loved one is the epitome of this sort of loss. In this case, we enter the grieving process of a man, George, who has recently lost his partner of 16 years, Jim, to a car accident. We get this through flashbacks played in reverse from Jim's death to their first meeting, the increasing happiness of the memories a parallel to George's own improving mood, but this parallel is irrelevant here. It is the contrast of the happiness of these flashbacks to the quiet, somber world that George now inhabits that stirs the emotion inside as we realize the extent of what George has lost. Through this contrast, the reader cannot help but reflect on or speculate about one's own losses. Relating = feeling.
While loss of love can be experienced oneself or through others, the pain of alienation is something that attacks the very core of the social animal. Right off the bat, George gets a call from Jim's cousin, with news about the car accident and the upcoming funeral. The loss hurts, but the reiteration that the funeral is for "family only," is a much sharper sting. Throughout the story, George reflects on how he and Jim were invisible, cut off from the increasingly savage world embodied by his beastly neighbors. He teaches a class that does not care, watches a world of mediocrity sprouting around him, feels so out of place and out of touch. The drowning motif, while a bit heavy-handed, is fitting. It is only when he befriends his student, Kenny, that he is allowed to surface.
Finally, George's doom touches our hearts. We know from the beginning that he will ultimately die: he buys bullets for a gun, withdraws his possessions from the bank, and leaves his will out on the table for someone to find. We envision someone whose heart has been deeply cracked, who lacks the means or the understanding to repair it. Our sadness comes from seeing how his attempts have failed and how he has slipped into complete isolation and anonymity. It is when we trip in the pursuit of happiness that we fall into the character's sadness.
Through this wave of melancholy, we catch breaths of air in the memories and the happy moments. George recollects in his final words that he has "lived [his] life on these moments" even though they fade. Yet, it is his acknowledgment that everything must fade that ultimately sets him free. He is able to look at what has been and what can be. He can acknowledge that there may be more moments to anticipate. He has a few friends and at least one who understands him. It is a quiet way to end, satisfying without yelling or sobbing but a quiet gasp.
We'll start with the basics. Lost love is universally relatable, whether directly or vicariously, and the death of a loved one is the epitome of this sort of loss. In this case, we enter the grieving process of a man, George, who has recently lost his partner of 16 years, Jim, to a car accident. We get this through flashbacks played in reverse from Jim's death to their first meeting, the increasing happiness of the memories a parallel to George's own improving mood, but this parallel is irrelevant here. It is the contrast of the happiness of these flashbacks to the quiet, somber world that George now inhabits that stirs the emotion inside as we realize the extent of what George has lost. Through this contrast, the reader cannot help but reflect on or speculate about one's own losses. Relating = feeling.
While loss of love can be experienced oneself or through others, the pain of alienation is something that attacks the very core of the social animal. Right off the bat, George gets a call from Jim's cousin, with news about the car accident and the upcoming funeral. The loss hurts, but the reiteration that the funeral is for "family only," is a much sharper sting. Throughout the story, George reflects on how he and Jim were invisible, cut off from the increasingly savage world embodied by his beastly neighbors. He teaches a class that does not care, watches a world of mediocrity sprouting around him, feels so out of place and out of touch. The drowning motif, while a bit heavy-handed, is fitting. It is only when he befriends his student, Kenny, that he is allowed to surface.
Finally, George's doom touches our hearts. We know from the beginning that he will ultimately die: he buys bullets for a gun, withdraws his possessions from the bank, and leaves his will out on the table for someone to find. We envision someone whose heart has been deeply cracked, who lacks the means or the understanding to repair it. Our sadness comes from seeing how his attempts have failed and how he has slipped into complete isolation and anonymity. It is when we trip in the pursuit of happiness that we fall into the character's sadness.
Through this wave of melancholy, we catch breaths of air in the memories and the happy moments. George recollects in his final words that he has "lived [his] life on these moments" even though they fade. Yet, it is his acknowledgment that everything must fade that ultimately sets him free. He is able to look at what has been and what can be. He can acknowledge that there may be more moments to anticipate. He has a few friends and at least one who understands him. It is a quiet way to end, satisfying without yelling or sobbing but a quiet gasp.
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