When I saw the trailer for Robert Pattinson movie, "Remember Me," the only thing that caught my attention was how many 13-year-old girls were going to rob their parents blind seeing it eight times in theaters. Like my proceeding generation's "Titanic," minus the Oscars.
But then I heard about the "twist" ending (skip to the 5th paragraph if you have any desire to see this film). Apparently, we're under the impression the story takes place in present day until the last moments, when it's revealed it's actually 2001 and RPatt walks into one of the towers.
This is hardly the first movie to make money off of a tragic 9/11 death, but it seems worse for some reason. Maybe it's the vampire who glitters in the sunlight turned terrorist victim, or the fact that the final scene was in no way related to the rest of the film.
I always have been skeptical of 9/11 movies. They argued they were memorializing the travesty, but in the end, they were still making money and getting famous.
But it makes me wonder about Holocaust movies. "Schindler's List" was not only one of the best movies ever made, but it had an element of honesty to it that I haven't seen in most other films based on real-life tragedies. Spielberg's intentions seemed pure, that he made the film to raise awareness, though I'm sure it didn't hurt his wallet or reputation.
A few weeks ago, Jeff and I saw "Shutter Island," starring Leonardo DiCaprio as a WWII vet traumatized by what he found in the camps. It didn't feel cheap or exploitive, and we both really liked the movie. But it's still a horror movie that used the Holocaust to enhance the thrill. I didn't even think of that until I heard about "Remember Me."
I've been to one Concentration Camp just outside of Prague. I visited Terezin as a sophomore in college when I went on an alternative spring break trip with the UW Hillel. It was actually on that trip that I met Jeff, and it was at that camp where we first had a meal alone together.
There was a restaurant in the middle of the camp. The tables were small and Jeff and I ended up alone at a table for two. In many ways it was the beginning. Later that night we had our first kiss.
The restaurant was on the nicer side, but they still played American rap music. It wasn't censored and they played unedited cuts they definitely wouldn't play on U.S. radio stations.
The thing was, it didn't feel that weird, because the whole experience didn't feel real. I tried so hard to imagine the horrors that must've occurred, but I just couldn't. I felt like I was looking at a recreation, a movie set. I wanted to feel what my ancestors must have felt when they were there, but I couldn't separate the place from what it was at present: a museum.
I felt the same way when I went to Yad Vashem in Israel. The photos of bodies piled on top of each other were in expensive frames, and the relics of family's stolen keepsakes were in pristine glass boxes. I wanted to be angry and scared and sad. I wanted to cry.
Watching movies that integrate the Holocaust or any tragedy, really, into their plot do the same thing to me. With the exception of movies that exist solely to portray the horrors of the time, these films make me connect a tragedy that should not be forgotten with blood sucking heart throbs and men who see ghosts.
I don't know how to make anything in history feel more real in the present day. Maybe it's just me, and other people can break through those museum quality barriers. Or maybe it wasn't a coincidence that I kissed Jeff for the first time the day I walked through the camp. It's possible we connected on a different level in a place so consequential in the history of our people.
But if that's the case, I didn't know it at the time. I just know when I think about the horrors of the Holocaust, I really hope I don't imagine Leonardo DiCaprio invading Germany at the end of the war.
Photo: Railroad tracks in Terezin
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