This is the season where film historians look back on how it was, how it should have been, and how, with a little rejigging, it could be remembered. For the films that are nominated now and rewarded later will be held up for examination for years to come. Their merits and viability as cultural markers will wax and wane, along with the sheen of achievement, leaving some of us to wonder if all the kerfuffle was truly deserved. And that’s okay. It’s in our nature to wonder, isn’t it?

Life, like art, is brief and if it is lucky, sustains itself not just under the spectre of fresh eyes, but the weights and measures of wicked old time.

A poet and blogger I follow recently touched on a theme close to my heart: that of the dead and how we, the survivors, come to terms with their leave take. The dead ascend to great heights and sink to great lows, especially as we rummage through their stuff and uncover their secrets.Yet we honour and disparage in equal measure whether we know it or not, remembering, loving and revising to suit.

Time, gorgeous time, affords the luxury of circumspection, whether in art critique or a life remembered. So whether we use time to rewrite a life past and lived or grind axes over films that shoudda won and didn’t, let us take time by the scruff and be glad that we have the gift of it to dwell excellently.

Adult, unapologetic and cognizant, I wish you good Monday. Let’s stay above it.



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