Disappearing Act

A few months ago I mentioned the act of going to the cinema involves surrendering a belief in the here and now and disappearing into another world that almost seems real from the time the lights start to dim.Most of the time when going back out through the foyer it only takes minutes to be back in Preston and walking along the river path home.But occasionally (very) there is a film that stays with you. You can remember when and where and what your feelings were long after it is over.Off the top of my head the first film that affected me like that was 2001: A Space Odyssey. The second was Heaven’s Gate. I don’t want to go into the whys and wherefores of those as they don’t involve the actual topic of Disappearing Act.For this I would like to look at another film where I can’t recall coming out of the cinema or walking back along the Bournemouth beach to Boscombe. I can’t even remember much about the film’s content now as it was back in about 1977 but what haunted me was the atmosphere that it created for me at that time.The film was Picnic at Hanging Rock an Australian film directed by Peter Weir and based on the 1967 novel Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay. I can’t actually remember much of the plot now as I saw it in about 1997 so I’ve just refreshed my memory.As the story opens, it’s Valentine’s Day, 1900, and the young women of Appleyard College for Young Ladies are setting out on a picnic, chaperoned by two teachers. It’s a hot day, and their destination lies hours away by horse-drawn carriage. After the excitement of receiving Valentine’s cards, emotions are running high. The girls are eager for adventure, yet must always remember the expectation that they behave like proper young ladies.After a picnic at the foot of the towering Hanging Rock, as it’s almost time for the return journey, a few girls beg permission to take a short walk along the stream…and never return. Hours pass and finally one of the party returns in terror, but with no explanation of what’s actually happened. No sign can be found of the three missing girls, and what’s more, it’s discovered that one of the teachers has also vanished. As night approaches, there’s no choice but to return to the school. An intense manhunt follows, and while one girl is eventually found but again, with no memories of what happened to her or the others.That’s as far as I’m going on the plot.
Critics wrote in terms of:
Its beautiful cinematography
It gives us the materials to fashion our own work of art, it performs a function given only to the highest art: it makes us think as it fills us with awe and wonder.
It's an arty film... and like the artist, Weir insists on layering colours and depth to his mystery ever so slowly and deliberately, adding a stroke of character here and a brush of suspense there.
It is a film of haunting mystery and buried sexual hysteria.

It had an approval rating of 92% on Rotten Tomatoes based on 48 reviews, with an average rating of 8.5/10.I’d just add that whilst I was looking for the information on the film I found that a number of people have recently seen the film and it still retains its magic.As for the poem I’m going to go back to my mention of Heaven’s Gate above. I’d like to mention it again as it is one of my favorite films and this poem could be seen as a bit of me has performed a disappearing act over the years.
The poem mentions ‘French review’ which is true of the French critics at the time but also relates to an article by Philip French, a British critic, one of the few British or Americans who praised it at the time.Heaven’s Gate
I was wondering
how Isabelle Huppert still
looks like Isabelle Huppert
when I don’t look like me
though I did
when I looked like Kris Kristofferson
and walked home
overwhelmed
not realizing I’d seen
the worst film ever made
which when I looked like me
was confusing
until I saw Masterpiece
in a French review
and kept the beard
became fluent in sub-titleeze
grateful for someone who knew
what they were talking about.
First published in the French Literary Review, 2017.Thanks for reading, Terry Q. Email ThisBlogThis!Share to XShare to Facebook