Silent Tears for Grandmother
We wind along the country roads that are flanked by pine trees and freshly planted cornfields. Finally, we rumble up the long dirt driveway to the muted-red house, needing to be repainted and repaired. As the tires roll to a stop, I spring from the car and happily run into Nana’s outstretched arms, where a shower of kisses falls upon my blond-streaked braids. I hug Grampa around his knees, and he pats my head. After Mom and Dad have said their hellos, I hurry to the door that I proudly open on my own. I have only been able to open it myself for the last few visits, and the glory of this triumph has not yet worn off. When we are all outside on the back porch, Nana hands me a warm chocolate cookie. The talk turns to the plans for the day. Mom and Dad will be helping Grampa clean out the barn, and I will have the honor of assisting Nana with her gardening. Nana smiles at me and says, “Shall we go get started?” I nod, wolfing-down the rest of my delicious cookie, and licking the chocolate off my fingers. Trailing behind her as she goes into the garage to get the seeds and spades, I wonder what exactly “helping Nana in the garden” means. I soon find out.
We emerge into the blinding warmth of the sun. The azure roof above us is dotted with a few wisps of white which resemble the silky stands of hair that brush across my face in the wind. Nana and I walk side by side, but every once in awhile I have to jog to keep up with her long strides (even though she is only 5’ 2”). We stop in front of a patch of brown earth, the unplanted garden that lines one wall of the garage. Nana gazes at it, probably imagining what it will look like later in the spring and summer with all of the flowers growing: the purples and yellows mixed with the deep reds, pale blues, and all the shades of green.
We kneel side-by-side in the cool grass at the edge of the dark-brown, healthy-looking soil. I push my pointer-finger into the dirt to see how it feels and whether or not it is going to be something I like putting my hands into. The cool damp greets my fingertip, and I can’t help but slip my hands into the dirt, which reminds me of brownie batter.
This initial stage is followed by a realization of loneliness. Truman reaches out to the girl at college whom he sees at events, but with whom he is never able to speak because, subconsciously, he realizes that she is more substantive, and as we — the omniscient viewer — learn, she is a window to the reality. Truman longs for reality, although he does not know it. He only knows that he is not totally happy in "paradise." She is a
When Truman comes out of his house we realise that through the use of an extreme long shot and low angle shot that the houses are perfectly the same and white picket fences represent that we are in 1950’s America culture. The way that Truman dresses also indicates that he is of a middle class world. The most important feature about this film is that Truman does not know that he has been filmed and also is surrounded by actors who formulate the Truman Show. The thin...
In this first stage of cognition, the cave dweller is shackled and can only see shadows of figures on the wall in front of him. His reality is based on his imagination of these figures. “To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.” Similarly, Truman’s reality is based on this imaginary world where his parents, wife, and everyone else around him are hired actors. Early in the film Truman seems to be happy although he is already starting to imagine himself in Fiji which he points out is the furthest place from Seahaven.
One of the major differences between the film and the novel is the depiction of the delusional image of reality. However, it still manages to bring forth the dystopian image of both their Utopian societies. In The Truman Show, life is a real life play in an environment that provides comfortable lifestyle and happiness at the cost of reality. The producer of The Truman Show, Christof states, “We accept the reality of the world with which we are presented”. This message is the underlying theme in the story and as such, will foreshadow Truman’s acceptance of a delusional reality in the film. Meanwhile, in the film everyone except for Truman is acting and not living an authentic life. There is no sense of “real”; no real affinity, no secrecy, and no faith, all of which Truman is blindly unawar...
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
The world outside of Sea Haven is the World of Being. The world outside Truman is where the true truth and where true things live; in comparison to where Truman lives where everything is fictitious. Truman is the prisoner: Truman is stuck in the fake bubble world, and truly believes that where he is, is the true world. However it is just a counterfeit of the true world. Christof is the puppeteer: Christof is the main schemer in fooling Truman to think where he is at is reality. He is the one directing the actions of the actors and creating the fake world around Truman. Lauren comes is the escaped philosopher who tries to help Truman escape from Sea Haven and tell him about the "World of Being” outside of Sea Haven. The shadows in The Truman Show are all the actors and objects in Sea Haven who are artificial representations of the true forms outside World of Being. The real forms are the objects outside the cave they are the “real” beings that the objects and people in Sea Haven try to
After his realization, Truman lives his life knowing he cannot be harmed. The entire ‘world’ revolves around him and none of the actors are allowed to hurt or physically stop him. The opposite is true for Montag; the entire world is gunning for him. Upon finding out that Montag has been reading, the government is determined to let him know that doing so was a mistake. This pressure and aspect of danger only serves to motivate Montag, pushing him to further investigate and learn. For Truman, however, it is his invincibility that pushing him to act on his findings about the world. Another difference between the plots of these works is the protagonists’ interaction with the antagonists. Truman personally communicates with his father in order to learn more about why he did what he had done. Though Montag did murder Beatty, the fire chief, there was never a direct conflict between him and the government, the overall enemy of the story. These minor differences ensure that the works are separate and enjoyable, while still presenting the same underlying dystopian
...m. According to the controller of Brave New World and the director of The Truman Show, the world is benefiting from each characters loss. Their reasoning is that it is a better and happier life for them. Conclusively, all three protagonists do not agree with how they have been controlled and are determined to overcome the suppression. Bernard and the Savage to not recant on any opinions however different they may be. Truman is determined to reach the world and move on from a televised life. It is evident that sacrificing a personal identity should not be a reason to benefit society because someone’s individuality is a precious gift.
The Truman Show directed by Peter Weir, is about Truman Burbank who is a simple man, living a predictable and ideal life in a world that revolves around him. He was an unwanted baby who was legally adopted by a television corporation. Ever since he was born his every move has been monitored by thousands of cameras and analyzed by an audience without his knowledge. His life is on display for millions of people around the world to watch 24 hours a day. He is the star of a reality TV show, The Truman Show. There’s just one thing, he is completely oblivious to it. Truman also believes that his friends, coworkers, strangers, and loved ones are who they say they are; however, they are just all actors hired by the creator of the TV show Christof, who uses these actors to control Truman’s life and prevent him from figuring out the dishonesty of a “real life.” As he
The movie is very similar to the Bible's Book of Genesis. In the Book of Genesis, God created Heaven and Earth and everything in it including Adam and Eve. In “The Truman Show” Christof, the producer of the show creates Seahaven Island, a constructed fake reality town with perfect neighbors which is home to Truman. It is thought of as a perfect town where nothing can go wrong just like the Garden of Eden in the bible. Christof is seen as a “God” like representation in the movie who has all the power. The whole town is made up of actors portraying real people living in a community. It is really all just an illusion but unbeknownst to Truman he perceives it as reality. It is Christof’s vision
I slowly opened the front door -- the same old creak echoed its way throughout the old house, announcing my arrival just seconds before I called out, "Grandma!" She appeared around the corner with the normal spring in her steps. Her small but round 5'1" frame scurried up to greet me with a big hug and an exclamation of, "Oh, how good to see you." It was her eighty-fifth birthday today, an amazing feat to me, just part of everyday life to her. The familiar mix of Estee Lauder and old lotion wafted in my direction as she pulled away to "admire how much I've grown." I stopped growing eight years ago, but really, it wasn't worth pointing this fact out. The house, too, smelled the same as it's ever smelled, I imagine, even when my father and his brothers grew up here more than forty years ago -- musty smoke and apple pie blended with the aroma of chocolate chip cookies. The former was my grandfather's contribution, whose habit took him away from us nearly five years ago; the latter, of course, comes from the delectable delights from my grandmother's kitchen. Everything was just as it should be.
It was a Monday night; I remember it like it was yesterday. I had just completed my review of Office Administration in preparation for my final exams. As part of my leisure time, I decided to watch my favorite reality television show, “I love New York,” when the telephone rang. I immediately felt my stomach dropped. The feeling was similar to watching a horror movie reaching its climax. The intensity was swirling in my stomach as if it were the home for the butterflies. My hands began to sweat and I got very nervous. I could not figure out for the life of me why these feelings came around. I lay there on the couch, confused and still, while the rings continued. My dearest mother decided to answer this eerie phone call. As she picked up, I sat straight up. I muted the television in hopes of hearing what the conversation. At approximately three minutes later, the telephone fell from my mother’s hands with her faced drowned in the waves of water coming from her eyes. She cried “Why?” My Grandmother had just died.
Something that I really struggled with was the passing of my Grandmother. She was a strong woman and an inspiration to everybody in my family. I think that I struggled with it because she was a great human being, I kind of looked up to her a bit, and of course she was part of my family. I think that along with her passing, I struggled with the fact that she died when I thought that she did nothing wrong in her entire life and did not deserve to die. Mainly the fact that she was a really good person and she just died like that.
Fortunately, I wake every morning to the most beautiful sun lit house. I sit on my porch sipping coffee, while I drink in an atmosphere that steals my breath away. Rolling hills lay before me that undulate until they crash into golden purple mountains. Oh how they are covered in spectacular fauna, ever blooming foliage, and trees that are heavy with pungent fruit. Green it is always so green here at my house. Here where the air lays heavy and cool on my skin as does the striking rays of the sun upon my cheeks. I know in my soul why I choose to be here every day. Pocketed in all the nooks and crannies of these valleys and hills are stately homes, rich with architecture resplendent. Diversity is the palate here; ...
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.