Canvas editorial: Sarah Daniell on Past Lives, sliding doors and chemistry lessons
OPINION
Past lives, sliding doors. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of the doors we take and the consequences of those decisions. Am I where I am meant to be, or is it because I chose the wrong door and lost something really incredible in the process? What is — as they say in economics — the opportunity cost of that choice?
This week, I saw a film at the NZIFF by Celine Song. Past Lives is an achingly tender, funny and astute take on the notion of sliding doors. But it is an even better window on relationships. How our ideas on love and relationships change throughout our lives. And how they don’t.
But, eventually, what we accept. Or not.
I have been heavily invested in the concept of romance my entire life. In books — for example, Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks — all I can remember is the chemistry, the love story, the sex, in what I think are the first two chapters. The rest of it, set against a world war — was that even there? Lessons, Ian McEwan’s latest novel, is the epic story of a man’s life and deeply complex, but now I’ve finished it, I can’t get past his true love — the mature, cool one that happens later on. Jane Austen provides an arch sub-text on feminism and women’s role in society, but what did I see? F***ing Darcy, that’s who, striding across a field to tell Elizabeth that he wants her. It’s not just romantic relationships, but work, friendships. Life. But in partnerships, choosing that door labelled Chemistry Dept has come at a cost because I have often been blinded by reality punching me right in the face. With friends, I understand some will provide empathy or wise counsel and others will bring a wrench, jokes or a bottle of whiskey. Whatever they bring, it is love, but they cannot bring it all.
I have had a long love affair with chemistry and I’ve given it much power. Song’s film explores the rush, the ache and sting of attraction, long-distance relationships and the consequences of the decisions we make. She so exquisitely and intelligently navigates the idea of love, fate and relationships it could be a guide, if you needed it, on how to have a difficult conversation in bed with your lover or partner without burning down the house — and it could even save you some coin on a therapist. That scene, and this is not a spoiler alert, is a revelation. There are no tidy answers, no perfect doors. But I know where I should be.
This week, I write about two separate couples, two entirely different businesses in a small Golden Bay town, who talked about their lives, how they work and live together. While there, I stayed with old friends who are so in love, but somehow old in their love.
Another example of a love supreme is Tour de France champion Greg LeMond and his wife Kathy, our cover story this week.
Long since leaving Golden Bay, I am left with an understanding/belief that is part alchemy, part design, part sliding doors. And that they, like me, are exactly where they are meant to be.