Buried Child

This afternoon, I read a play called "Buried Child". It was written by Sam Shepard, whom I will tell you all about and how much I love if given the slightest provocation - which is only slightly untrue. I love his latter plays. He wrote his earlier ones while taking lots of drugs, and so I have a hard time finding substance in them. I'm sure you understand.
"Buried Child" won the Pulitzer Prize (enter "Newsies" reference of your choice here) for Best Play back in '79, and it is very good. But, as you may be able to deduce from its title, it is very troubling in subject matter.
"Disturbing," as my father is fond of commenting after watching certain movies. "Very disturbing." Like most coined phrases of our parents, this one typically caused a slight eye-roll from me upon hearing my father's verdict. I never really understood what he meant by it - until recently I couldn't understand what was "troubling" or "disturbing" about what I was watching. Sure Jack Nicholson is acting weird. He always acts weird. I don't think he is capable of acting normal, even in his serious roles.
What we had just watched might have been scary, or suspenseful, but I could never really see things from my father's point of view - to fully grasp what his words entailed. I'm sorry if this sounds repetitive, but I'm trying to make a point. In my younger teenage years, I was unable to be disturbed.
Whether desensitized by gory movies or the countless comic books I read ( I had no business reading 75% of those I pulled from the Barnes & Nobles shelves) - I was not able to be touched. It was as though I had a switch I could flip. A window to close, to stop letting the breeze of what I was witnessing from reaching me.
But lately I have been beginning to see what my dad was driving at. The typically calm waters of my mood and dwelling-thoughts have been upset periodically. A movie. A play. Poems. News from far away places. I am able to be touched. What does this mean? - Now that I am able to see the potential harm in what I absorb.



It has been said that filmmakers, and artists in general, often reach an age of maturity when all the work the produce follows a certain theme. Spielberg loves Father-Son/young person finds mentor-figure stories. Wes Anderson does movies with quirky characters who learn to embrace/control their flaws and love the people around them. Tarantino does Tarantino-y takes on obscure film genres/cultural references. Woody Allen...you get the picture. Film buffs, connect the threads. This is a fun game to play sometime.
Sam Shepard, though a playwright, has similar themes and characters in his works.
Heritage and family history. The disappearance of the American West as we traditionally know it. The depreciation of that which was once cherished. Insane families.
Who we are because of where and who we came from. How we can never escape our past. How we try to kill off the memories of our parents only to find that we ourselves are driven to extinction in the process.
I hold theories about families that I have personally arrived at.

No one is able to hate anyone else quite like a son is capable of hating his father.
Every son will love their father - even those who hate their dads. Despite the sins that are inherited from one generation to the next, that love still remains, though it may become twisted and marred by pain.
The contempt shared between two brothers is also incalculably strong, though categorically very different.
"A boy's best friend is his Mother or whatever has become his pet."
Family.

Mr. Shepard has an answer for us. Acceptance. Learn to live with where you came and who you are. Combine it with who you are capable of being, and a happy medium may be found. Just remember that a tree cannot live without its roots.