Into the Wire

Yesterday's post about the complexity of city life, and the trappings of living in a market-driven capitalist society, has me thinking about two very different works of media - both, I think, worth your while.

INTO THE WILD, Sean Penn's film adaptation of Jon Krakauer's book, seems to be doing well. It opened wide in NYC and features an impressive cast (Hal Holbrook, Vince Vaughn, Catherine Keener, William Hurt, Marcia Gay Harden) - led by a relatively unknown youngin, Emile Hirsch (well-known if you're a 16 year-old girl, I suppose). The popularity of it in the city reminds me of another film, INTO GREAT SILENCE - a 162-minute documentary featuring nothing much more than continuous footage of life in a Carthusian monastery, hushed and minimal - which played at Film Forum for an extended run. (Get me out of here, we city folk seem to be saying with our movie choices.)

I've not read Krakauer's book, but I understand the film stays fairly close to it. Armed with Tolstoy, Thoreau, Jack London, a field guide to plants and berries, a hunting rifle, and a bag of rice, the real-life kid in question (who's just graduated from college and is filled with anger towards his stern and business-oriented father) eschews materialism, careerism, the "false self" - and lights out for the road. Eventually, the Alaskan wild calls, and he answers. He survives nearly four months, and then, two years after his initial flight from mainstream comforts, Chris's corpse is found by moose hunters in an abandoned bus in the Alaskan wilderness.

I knew I wanted to see this movie; I knew it would resonate somehow. The urge to get out, and away, is something I suppose many of us can relate to. The call of solitude, of freedom, of the inner search for a true self and a true vocation via the outward journey (which starts out away but evolves into towards)... it's a narrative as familiar to the American soul as, well, bootstraps capitalism. It's what prompted regular ole me (about whom Sean Penn will not be making a film) to light out for the country.

I haven't read any of the reviews or commentaries, but my initial response to the film (and Chris McCandless's story, as it's portrayed) is that it's both a celebration and a cautionary tale of youthful conceptions of freedom - glory and limitations. Not unlike (ironically) the founding American promise of economic freedom via unbridled market competition, the vision is intoxicating in its pure individualism. Ultimately, though, what young McCandless discovers is that his complete abandonment of community and connectedness - the human experiences of love, fidelity, and even forgiveness - limit both his joy and his ability to survive.

"Youthful" and "young" are interesting terms for me here. In another era, my 35 years would be considered fairly advanced; these days, 35 (especially in the city, especially if you are childless) seems to be the new 25. And my partner-in-life is a generation older than I, so I often get accused of "youthful naivete." Yet: 1) when I look around, I recognize (somewhat alarmingly) that my peers have begun running the world, and 2) even I could see what was coming, as Chris M. rejected offer after offer of love and community along his path. We are not islands, we are not that strong; nature showed Chris McCandless, tragically, who was boss in the battle between one man and the universe. But his burning need/determination to find out first-hand, without mediators, without authorial interpretation (i.e. distortion), without fear - is perhaps what defines his "youth," and what we (romantics) celebrate as the life we ought to preserve and cultivate, no matter our chronological age or experience. When we light out for solitude, when we create space between ourselves and society, we are claiming the truth of present aliveness, of direct communion of our very own souls with every miracle of existence (a la Emerson) - other people's opinions and layers of interpretation and pre-canned analyses be damned. Maybe this is the fundamental truth of the romantic temperament: to rather be foolish than half-living.

A story like INTO THE WILD also, I think, gets under the skin of middle class city-dwellers, in that it pokes and prods at our soft spots, the places where we are not sure of our fundamental resourcefulness, our ability to survive - having accustomed ourselves to the life of 24-hour convenience. Without money, food, or shelter (or Amazon.com), how would we fare? Have we lost touch completely with that most basic human trait, i.e. instinct? What does a person really need, and how far are we from knowing the difference between need and want? Asceticism is, remember, a practice which cultivates (ultimately) spiritual bloom - not, as we often think, a holy emptiness. Who is really suffering - the man with many goods, or the man with none - is the question Chris McCandless posed to himself and the world; and he did so, I think, purely and effectively (sacrificing his own life for the sake of the question). It's a question that is not so abstract, and anything but irrelevant at this cultural moment.

It's true that courage comes easier to the young, because the young have less to lose. But many a 21 year-old in 1990 were buying in to corporate jobs and predictability, so Chris McCandless still certainly emerges as a young man of great courage. Kudos, too, to Mr. Penn for honoring Chris McCandless's remarkableness, and for enlarging his life's burning question for the big screen.

I didn't get to my second media-of-note - "The Wire"(the title of this post is not a typo) - in this post; so stay tuned.