Mourning. It’s a word we toss around easily enough, but truly experiencing it – witnessing its raw, messy reality – is something else entirely. And cinema, at its best, can offer us precisely that: a window into the profound and often bewildering process of grief. It's not about melodrama or easy answers; it’s about bearing witness to the human spirit grappling with loss, in all its complicated glory.
We tend to think of mourning as a linear progression – a week of shiva, then back to “normal.” But film, thankfully, isn't interested in tidy narratives. Take One Week and a Day, for example. The film beautifully illustrates how grief can fracture your sense of self, leading you down unexpected paths. Eyal’s decision to share a joint with his neighbor isn’t about flippant disregard; it’s a desperate attempt to find something – any flicker of joy or connection – in the face of overwhelming sorrow. It's a poignant reminder that healing isn't always about moving forward, sometimes it's about stumbling sideways and finding solace in unexpected places.
And that search for solace is a recurring theme. In On the Nickel, Sam’s return to his old haunt isn’t just nostalgia; it’s an attempt to resurrect a lost community, a sense of belonging shattered by addiction and circumstance. It's heartbreaking to see him clinging to memories while confronting the harsh realities of how lives have diverged. It reminds me of my own grandfather after my grandmother passed – he’d spend hours at her favorite bakery, just…being near something that reminded him of her. A small comfort in a vast emptiness.
But mourning isn't always about death. The Happy Housewife offers a fascinating perspective on the grief of lost identity. Lea’s initial contentment is shattered by motherhood, forcing her to confront a new reality and redefine herself. It’s a different kind of loss – the loss of an idealized version of who she thought she was – but it carries just as much weight.
Then there's Poetic Justice, where Justice channels her grief into poetry, finding a voice for her pain through art. And even in something seemingly detached like The Stranger, Meursault’s inability to connect with others can be interpreted as a form of mourning – a profound loss of empathy and understanding that leads him down a tragic path.
Ultimately, these films don't offer easy solutions or pat endings. They remind us that mourning is a deeply personal journey, shaped by individual circumstances and experiences. They invite us to consider the complexities of grief, not just in its most obvious forms, but also in the subtle losses we all face throughout our lives.
What film has resonated with you most when thinking about loss? I'd love to hear your thoughts!
