Wallowing in Self-Pity I recently

Wallowing in Self-Pity

I recently rented Frida. Funny because my curiosity about Frida Kahlo was aroused in a conversation with Peony about eyebrow waxing. After that it occurred to me I did not know who she was, so I looked her up to educate myself. I was intrigued by her paintings. I would never hang one in my home for fear of giving the kids nightmares, but she is able to portray the pain in her life from things that many of us can relate to such as the suffering of experiencing miscarriages, obsessing over unrequited love, or the frustration of living with debilitating health problems . However, while she illustrates very well her sadness ( and I actually wish I could paint so I could have the same outlet) her paintings lack hope and are filled with the self-centeredness depression without the Church (and place to channel that suffering-uniting it with Christ's suffering) brings. She did not have children, so I guess it is a moot point because maybe she did not have other responsibilities, but I cannot relate to spending hour upon hour painting self-portraits to channel all that sad energy to nothing constructive. Maybe I am judging too harshly because the paintings do make me say "ah, I have been there..." and that takes great talent and emotion on her part. Yet they do not inspire me to pray on these events, but to lock myself in my bedroom with a fifth of vodka and go to sleep for days.

As for the movie, funny thing. Literatelly like three days after Peony and I had the conversation about Frida, I was at our local movie theater with my family to see Twin Towers (which is a really nice theater except they are geared more towards the Avant Garde) when I saw a poster for Frida. My husband was on vacation and I thought maybe I would take advantage and do a "Mom By Herself" date and see the film, but that never came to pass. I finally got around to renting it this week.

Part of the problem for me was something Hollywood does a lot lately. In two movies that come to mind, Tom Hanks was a nice and misunderstood hitman in Road To Perdition. In Panic Room Forest Whitaker was a nice burglar. No one stops to think perhaps these characters would not be nice people? Same in Frida. In the interviews with the cast and director, everyone talks about how much Frida Kahlo "loved life". Um, has anyone looked at the same paintings I see? What they really mean is she lived amorally. She was an adulteress, a pervert, rumored to have beaten one of her female lovers to death with a crutch and married to a man who could nor would not stay faithful, who was a Communist, a cannibal-just not very nice. Yet this movie tries to portray them as fun-loving free-thinkers and people with society's best interests at heart. Whatever. Typical.

Visually, I did like the movie. Lots of colours set in Mexico. I just do not think it is telling the true story. Just another point about how wonderful it is not to follow the rules.