People who have a favorite television program won’t stop watching when the episode is over. They want the scenes, the teaser for the next week’s episode. Sometimes an anxious spouse will turn the channel when the show ends, only to have the other spouse grab the remote, turn it back to the station: “Scenes – we have to see the scenes.” And nowadays when you get a film and watch it in the comfort of your home, you get all kinds of extras. You get the director’s commentary, and sometimes interviews with the actors. But what always means the most to me, especially after watching the film, is the deleted scenes. What didn’t make it into the film. But they were meant to be in the film, at least to begin with.
Like life – our lives are filled with deleted scenes. They can be beautiful or destructive, happy or sad. Somehow they don’t fit our particular narrative.
Me, I want my deleted scenes, because I want to know what isn’t there, but what once was. It’s as real as a finished film, or a finished life. But unless you take the time to watch, it remains hidden. Almost like invisible. I care a great deal about what already has happened, and why I don’t remember so clearly, and especially why? – this is my big question, or my big problem or both.
I really need to know why my scenes were deleted, and then I want to know – was I was the one who deleted them, and, then -- what was I protecting in doing so. The scenes, like those kept for the DVD version of "me," still exist ... somewhere out there.
To Reach The Green Light At The End Of The Pier
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ELEANOR says: "Please turn the page. Keep reading."
"The Little Room," Olive Thomas In Background
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