Fanaa and French Revolution. Yup, they got nothing in common!
OK, this is actually about all the people who hated Fanaa because it was unrealistic. You know, Fanaa. The movie whose one-line summary is "A blind girl and a terrorist fall in love." And it's a summary known basically to everyone who went to see it. This is not going to be a slice of real life, kitchen-sink drama, and you know exactly in advance
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I adore Lawrence - loved the movie, because I take after my mother (who used to wrap herself in a bed sheet at age ten and pretend to be him).
Heeeee. I saw it my senior year of college, with my best friend, and we ended up being in absolute shock. It was a tiny screen and a bad VHS copy, but still, I've never been so bowled over by a movie before or since. Actually, my friend never watched the second half, because she'd fallen in love with the character and told me she couldn't bear to watch stuff happen to him.
Years later I was lucky and was able to see LoA on a giant screen. Wow. I also think O'Toole's performance is about the best I've seen. Have you ever read Dorothy Dunnett? P O'T as Lawrence reminds me greatly of Francis Crawford, the protagonist of her "Lymond Chronicles."
Seven Pillars of Wisdom - the dedication page is amazing in itself, and the story of losing most of the book and re-writing it... well, is it any wonder that it's an incredible tale?
My friend gave it to me as a graduation present and I've loved it ever since. It's such an incredibly beautiful yet personal writing. Amazing.
The funny thing is, I went to a talk once at which the speaker was Elizabeth Peters and she said about "Seven Pillars of Wisdom" that she could never finish it. Struck me as odd, because I couldn't put it down...
And yes, the dedication:
I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands
and wrote my will across the sky in stars
To earn you Freedom, the seven-pillared worthy house,
that your eyes might be shining for me
When we came.
Death seemed my servant on the road, till we were near
and saw you waiting:
When you smiled, and in sorrowful envy he outran me
and took you apart:
Into his quietness.
Love, the way-weary, groped to your body, our brief wage
ours for the moment
Before earth's soft hand explored your shape, and the blind
worms grew fat upon
Your substance.
Men prayed me that I set our work, the inviolate house,
as a menory of you.
But for fit monument I shattered it, unfinished: and now
The little things creep out to patch themselves hovels
in the marred shadow
Of your gift.
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