Hubby and I recently watched two versions of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The 1978 version with Donald Sutherland and the original black-and-white from 1956. Each of the story lines were similar, each had its own “special” effects, but the endings were very different.
In the original, the invasion starts locally, in a small (fictional) California town. Soon almost everyone in the town has been affected, and there are plans to further the proliferation of the alien race all along the coast. But when the lone survivor is able to escape, he reaches humanity and is able to warn them of the coming devastation.
The final scene of the 1978 version begins a bit ambiguously–is Donald Sutherland pretending, masking his emotions, seeming to fit in with his alien conquerors, all the while planning a daring escape and counter-attack? Sadly, no. He’s one of them, and when his friend approaches him in the desperate hope that she’s not the last human left, he turns on her, alerting the other aliens of an impostor in their midst with a horrifying shriek. The entire city of San Francisco has been taken over–likely, the whole world.
And the viewer is left with no glimmer of hope, no silver lining, no hero on a white horse coming to the rescue.
Guess which of the two endings I found more satisfying? Okay, maybe satisfying isn’t the right word, but the dark, hopeless ending feels more realistic to me. More bleak, yes, but closer to the truth.
We also watched Brazil last night (it’s been a weird week). I confessed to Hubby that when I thought the movie was going to end on a hopeful note, I was pissed. But when it changed–without giving too much away–the darker ending again felt truer to me.
I’ve told Hubby before, when he tries to convince me to cheer up and look on the bright side, that I prefer to be more realistic–which he calls “pessimistic.” To quote Lloyd Dobler (again), “If you start out depressed everything’s kind of a pleasant surprise.” To be fair, he’s not talking about himself. Lloyd Dobler’s not that guy. But I am that girl, apparently.
Hubby had his blood drawn today. He gives his other sample on Monday. I’m hopeful we’ll get good news, but even if we do, what do we do with it? We can’t move forward with treatment until we decide where we’re going to live, where Hubby’s going to work, what kind of insurance we’ll have. Etc., etc., etc. Once again, I just feel stuck.
It’s been another week of hearing nothing (good or bad) on Hubby’s job search. He’s applied for what must be hundreds of jobs by now, and he’s never had a call, never an interview, never a hint of interest. No hero. No white horse.
I don’t want the dark ending for us. I don’t want Hubby to have to compromise on his dream job–because it’s just not happening–for a job that pays the bills and insurance that maybe covers IVF. But I don’t want to remain in limbo, either, in a Twilight Zone of forever waiting. It’s not even an ending I’m looking for at this point, it’s forward momentum. It’s a plot twist, something to carry our story into the next scene. Whatever that might be.
So, as I pretended to debate in my last post, I am ready for whatever happens next. I guess the concern is that I’ll be out of shape. We’ve been stuck in one position for so long, I’m afraid we’ve atrophied. But even if moving forward means muscle cramps, bring it on. I’m so tired of standing still.