The Diary of Antoine Roquentin

I had to write a paper for my Methods of Literary Analysis class (the portal corse for English majors) about the imagery used in the film Bright Star which presents a fictionalized account of the life of the Romantic poet John Keats.

I just got it back today, she wrote “well-written—very good work!” on it. I thought I’d post it, since all my writing these days seems to be of the technical variety:

Antoine Roquentin
Methods of Literary Analysis
Judith Broome

Bright star, would I were affluent as thou art

In the 2009 film Bright Star, the primary imagery of the film stems from an Elysian conception of nature, with flowers abloom and an idyllic forested landscape of unspoiled beauty. The imagery of wealth, privilege, and class also pervade the film—which can be read not only as a meditation on beauty but of a fall from the leisure class.

The extensive images of nature in the film help to underscore its focus on Keats’ poetry, which uses much natural imagery. The poem that the film takes its title from is filled with images of nature, from the obvious comparison of himself to a star, to “gazing on the new soft-fallen mask / of snow upon the mountains and the moors[.]” The film also attempts to make specific connections with imagery provided in dialogue, such as the scene where he emulates his dream floating on the branches of a magnolia tree.

The blooming flowers and butterflies also symbolize the sexual frustration that Keats and Fanny feel. The constant over-saturation of blooms and color, such as when Fanny, enraptured by beauty, falls down into a field of lavender, serves to underscore how the imagery of the natural world mirrors her affections. In another scene, where Fanny has her brother and sister fill her room with butterflies, she is trying to extract from nature the symbols of her love, and fill her life with them. Nature imagery, as well as being a mirror for the positive aspects of Keats’ romance, also serves as a symbolic backdrop for times when the story takes a dark turn, such as the rainstorm before Keats is taken ill. Also, in the scene where Keats is enraged that his friend has offered to marry Fanny, this takes place not in an area of lush flowers but in a barren stand of trees, further underscoring the relationship between Keats and the natural world.

The film is also replete with the visual language of privilege and class—not one person in the film, save for Keats, actually has anything we could consider a job. One could argue that if Fanny had to work hard putting food on the table, she wouldn’t have had time to let her obsession with Keats take hold of her. Her days spent doing nothing in bed serve as an embarrassing reminder of the capricious nature of the upper classes. It’s also worth noting that the production team of the film didn’t think the actual houses that Keats and Fanny lived in were appropriate for the film. Instead, the film was shot on a sprawling estate in the country, amplifying the quality of the film as a documentary on the trials and tribulations of the rich, rendering much of the heartfelt sentiment of the film embarrassing.

The myopic treatment of the historical context of the film is understandable, as the focus is on nature, beauty, and love. The sumptuous color and warm, summer breezes so adequately captured in the film are meant to evoke Keats’ words, but the imagery of his poetry, in cinematic explication, loses some of its best qualities.

Uncle died today.
Or maybe it was yesterday, I don’t know.

No, it was today. My cell phone barely works in the dorms, and my mom had called two or three times while I slept. I remember telling her she was in my dream, before she told me.

I didn’t know what to do—I stayed in bed until 3:30 in the afternoon.

Woke up

Made breakfast

Washed my clothes

Took a shower

(we must continue to do our routines, never stopping, never stopping)

Went to my American Lit class, and surprise surprise we’re discussing Emily Dickinson’s poems about death. I felt this one the most apropos.

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers—
Untouched by Morning
And untouched by Noon—
Lie the meek members of the Resurrection—
Rafter of Satin—and Roof of Stone!

Grand go the Years—in the Crescent—above them—
Worlds scoop their Arcs—
And Firmaments—row—
Diadems—drop—and Doges—surrender—
Soundless as dots—on a Disc of Snow—

Roommates were listening to gangsta rap all morning—I wanted to walk over and switch off the circuit breaker. Found out the cafeteria doesn’t take credit cards…wtf is up with that? The bitch was really rude about it too, I took it out and she just gave me this condescending look. I hope she finds centipedes in her vagina.

I’m having a beer and trying to think about doing this essay for my methods of literary analysis class. I called and asked my mom whether I should come home today or miss my classes, and Grandma said that I should go to class. After all, the first viewing isn’t until Thursday.

The death just doesn’t feel real here at the university. Nothing ever feels real here, it’s like I’m fourteen once I walk through the student center. Some might find that liberating, but I hate it. I hate being around these childish imbeciles for three days a week. People were throwing snowballs and rocks at our window earlier.

Most of the people in my classes aren’t really trying to be writers, they want to teach third grade and instill them with the same lasseiz-faire bullshit that has destroyed our society.

I saw my uncle a few days ago in the care facility—he was so tired, kept slipping off to sleep. He was on oxygen, which is always a sign that the end is near. He could barely remember us, but he would always respond to my mother’s voice when she told him what the nurses wanted. When we left, I said goodbye, but I couldn’t tell from looking in his eyes whether he knew who I was or not.

The banter of my roommates continue in the background—flies buzzing a melody of football and corrupt bourgeois values.

I need to write this damn essay or there’s no reason to actually show up on Wednesday.

I know this post has been kind of a downer, but I leave you with some humor from the Ten Word Wiki’s article on broccoli.

I know I haven’t written in forever, but I was really busy last week. I was writing like mad, with a four page essay due in my critical writing class and this other two-page assignment for my methods of literary analysis class.

I had class all Wednesday long, but I managed to get through it all and get on the bus to see Four Tet at Le Poisson Rouge (with Matt, of course).

The next night we went to see Chris Garneau (this band Matt adores) at City Winery, then headed over to Mondo. I’m sad to say that whatever DJ was being amazing during the summer, they have gone on vacation. There was a lot of weird stuff that I couldn’t even identify, although they did play the Smiths and Le Tigre.

The next day I went to meet up with Marvin in the city and we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and took some pictures in DUMBO.

(from here on, all these photos were all taken with my brand-new Nexus One’s 5-megapixel camera)

(I adore the High Street/Brooklyn Bridge station, the tunnel is deliciously curved and looks like you are going to take off into space.)

Marvin couldn’t stay late because he had to get back to the university (last bus is at 11:30), so I went with him back to the Port Authority. After that, I headed to Brooklyn to meet up with Matt to see The Golden Filter. It was a fabulous show, although I forgot to bring my good camera. We did end up in some of the crowd shots:

The Golden Filter chick moves around like crazy, but I did manage to get one good shot of her:

Here’s the link to the actual professional photos.

I should be sleeping right now, but I’ve said that for years. I’ll sacrifice an hour of sleep for journaling—I always have. It’s odd to use the word “blogging,” since that really refers to something else these days, the realm of Gizmodo, Engadget, BrooklynVegan, and Boing Boing.

Writing for yourself is a subversive act.

I encourage everyone to do it.

I have to admit, I didn’t keep my promise to myself to finish writing my story. I’ve barely done any work, save for reading a ton in House of Mirth for my lit class. We are supposed to write an essay about how the main character is treated as a product.

In other news, I think my critical writing essay was a tour de force. I will find out tomorrow afternoon whether my professor agrees. I also think I did fantastically on the Grammar & Style test on Wednesday.

I also did that presentation on Jean Baudrillard (wow, this is the first time my voice recognition program spelled his name correctly) and I think it went perfectly. I was quite nervous and I really should have made some kind of outline of what I was going to talk about, but I had no idea how to sum up his theories so I just got up there with no notes and talked about his work for about 15 minutes. My professor looked like she was going to fall off the chair and then gave a little mini-lecture on philosophers even more obstructionist than their writing than Baudrillard.

Ok, soI really didn’t want to go back to the dorms today and give up my gigantic monitor and my lovely workstation, so I’m leaving ridiculously early in the morning. My alarm is set for—are you ready?—SEVEN ANTE MERIDIEN, BETCHES.

My whole goal for this weekend was to get new glasses and write a story, and I have to say I failed on both counts (but had an absolutely amazing and fun weekend). Eh, you win some, you lose some. Next week will be better.

Next summer

Next year

Until some undisclosed time when I’m going to have to “get my groove back.”

I want to graduate. Immediately. Also, I’m taking a much higher course load next semester. This shit is too easy.

I had such a fantastic Valentine’s Day with Matt. He came over Friday afternoon and hung out at my house for a while. My grandma loved him, it was hilarious. In the evening, we saw the Taken By Trees show at Union Hall (my mom couldn’t go because she was sick). It was absolutely beautiful. Her voice was like crystal wrapped in lace, fringed with her Swedish-accented words to the crowd between songs. When she sang “Watch the Waves” I thought I was going to pass out.

Saturday I went to Greenwich Letterpress and bought cute handmade cards for the family, and went up to Chelsea to find my mother a bouquet. I was turned off by all the dead flowers, so I found her this wonderful potted succulent with a beautiful flower.

While walking around one of the stores, I saw this adorable cactus that needed me to take him home. I named him Kenneth.

On Valentine’s Day, Matt and I went to Dao Palate and had a fantastic vegan meal and a bottle of wine. There were music and people and they were young and alive.

Today I went with Matt and a few of his friends to this amazing Indian buffet in Jackson Heights. It was an epic meal—this was lunch, and I wasn’t hungry again until midnight. On my way back to Manhattan, Yevgeny texted me that he was around so we met up for coffee in Times Sq and were going to watch a movie, but there was this odd discrepancy between the times that were listed online and the ones they had in the theater. So we went to Whole Foods instead and I did my weekly grocery shopping. I got some Lambic and this English beer I like. I need something to deal with my roommates, and I’ve decided that it will be fancy alcoholic beverages, at least for this week.

Tonight I’m supposed to be writing this essay for my critical writing class, but I’m not feeling terribly inspired, although I’m sure she will think it’s a tour de force. It’s due tomorrow though, I should get writing.

I know I’ve been saying this for years, but I need to force myself to write some fiction. I will write a Borges/Calvino-esque tidbit by Sunday, I have decided. I hate when I’m happy and have no desire to be creative. That hasn’t really happened yet, since I’ve been painting a lot despite my school responsibilities, but I need to write. I’m a writing major—I must get over this writers’ block.

Instead of writing stories, I think I’m going to write fake technical writing. Since that’s mostly what I do, I think it will have an eerie verisimilitude to it.

I forgot that I’d taken a bunch of pictures of the gigantic snowstorm at my university on Wednesday. For your viewing pleasure:

Here’s the main part of campus in front of the library

This is my view of New York City (taken from the roof of the science building, someone had left the door unlocked). Anyone have any idea where it is? I need to get a telescope to make out the actual buildings.

Snow heaped underneath Ben Shahn Hall

View of the dorms at night (don’t they look like prisons?)

Another far-off view of the dorms (taken from the science building)

Without the sign, this could be a Christmas card picture.

Lonely chairs in front of Raubinger Hall (where I have most of my classes)

One of the older buildings on campus (taken from Raubinger Hall)

Another of the old buildings:

Trees in front of Raubinger

Sculpture in front of the Atrium