Spettacolo

It was so mild today, my friend Ken asked, "Is winter over?" Ha! NOT. But still, today was like spring, only with lots of filthy melting snow. Loud noises in my house - icicles falling off the roof.

Again, besides the mildness, there were two great gifts today. My Thursday was laid out, and then this morning I received an email from Ken. "I know it's last minute - can you make 'Spettacolo' at 1.30?" No, I could not - I had a student coming at 1.30 to work on her So True piece and a piano lesson at 3. But Ken is one of my dearest friends who was recently ill for weeks; this was a movie I wanted very much to see and today its last showing, and the morning, though mild, was gloomy and dark, the sun came later. A perfect occasion to see a film set in a Tuscan village.

I changed both appointments and was on my way. And how glad I am. It's a gorgeous, moving documentary, as much a eulogy to a past now vanishing as to a creative way of life and to the power of theatre. Inspired by an extremely dramatic rescue of all its citizens from the Nazi's in 1944, the entire village becomes involved, every summer, in creating "autodramas" - plays about their daily lives, written by and starring themselves. Fifty years after its genesis, there's concern about whether this tradition can survive: the bank that funds them is closed down for corruption, and most of the participants are old; a third have already died. The village itself is being sold off, bit by bit, to rich out-of-town tourists who spend two weeks a year there. It's an old story of modernization, globalization, and loss, through the lens of their rehearsals for the annual production. The rhythms of the tiny town of Monticchielo with its 300 plus citizens who have known each other all their lives, the artistic struggles to put this production together, the seasons in Tuscany, one of the most beautiful places on earth - and all through, the cats who stroll through town and sit on stage to watch the procedures - glorious.

Before the show began, something amazing happened. As Ken and I took our seats, someone tapped me on the shoulder. "Ms. Kaplan," she said. "I'm a fan - I read your blog. In fact, I'm here today because you mentioned this film a few days ago, so I decided to take the afternoon off work to see it. You're the curator of my events."

I stood with my mouth open. I've never met this woman, who recognized me from the picture on the website - or perhaps from my new bag, pictured yesterday in the blog and on my shoulder today. She was so kind. "I love your blog, I love your books!" she said. Imagine me, levitating slightly and floating near the ceiling of the Bloor Cinema. Thank you, Linda! What a lift your words gave me. As I've written occasionally, I sometimes wonder why I keep this blog when it takes time, pays nothing, has few readers; my capitalist, business-minded friends think it makes no sense. But today, I was reminded that it makes perfect sense. Even if it matters to only a few people, including my new friend Linda, that's more than enough.

And so - onward.