Crossing The Channel
It's all uncharted waters.
Last night we watched Marwencol. I cried like a baby watching it. In a good way, I think. This movie was all about fear and art. Mark Hogancamp got his shit stacked by a bunch of thugs that didn't like that he was a cross-dresser. He was so badly beaten that he spent forty days in the hospital, nine of them in a coma, and he suffered permanent brain damage.
He lost all memory of his life before the attack.
He started playing with GI Joes and barbie dolls, and created a fictional town for them, Marwencol, which he set in WWII. The main character is Mark, and he interacts with this town full of beatiful, dangerous women, all of whom love and protect him. Nazi soldiers are a constant menace to Mark and the women, and their lives swing back and forth between triumph and tragedy.
Mark built the whole town to scale in his yard and then spent all his time photographing the story. The film follows him through his attack, his creation of Marwencol, his loneliness and sadness and deep, gripping fear, his discovery by the filmmaker, and the opening of his show in New York.
Fucking beautiful, is what.
Engage in each, I suppose.
PS- This sonofabitch can flat write. It will maim you to read him.