At the Movies with Dave

Dave and I watched many movies in our short time together. The movies were always a favorite pastime for us. Everything from Faces of Death to Spanish action films starring Jorge Reynoso with our uncle Anival to Beavis and Butthead Do America in Miami (to the horror of Dave's dad, Damian). The movies provided entertainment and escape in a way that no other media form could.

One of the stronger memories of watching a movie with Dave also included our mom. That day, we went to the theater to watch Gladiator. We'd actually somehow managed to bring a box of pizza into the theater, whose job to carry was all but mine. I apologized to a woman sitting in front of us as the large square box eclipsed her upward vision. The movie was harrowing to the end. Dave and I sat neck in neck at the edge of our seats, captivated by the story of Maximus, though I closed my eyes whenever the goriness made my stomach queasy. Years later, when a drunken Russell Crowe approached me and offered me a cigarette after performing a gig at the House of Blues, all I thought was: "Damn, Maximus just offered me a cigarette!"

About a year before Dave's passing, we'd spent much of the trip to nearby Niles (to pick up a sofa he purchased) discussing movies. He wanted my picks for the year. I told him that Battle in Seattle was really good because it used handheld cameras to tell the story of the WTO riots. At that time he was watching Che (he would watch it in snippets of about thirty to forty minutes every day, which is why he had been watching it as opposed to having watched it). I was stunned when he asked me not to ruin the ending, because I thought he'd known the life of Che Guevara all too well: after all, I had about six books of his in the library at our home, which he must've browsed through at some point or another. I finally told him jokingly: "Well Che does die," to which he responded, "I know that!"

After Dave moved out, he borrowed most of the movies in my collection to make copies. I'm guessing that he watched on average something like a movie a day, which is my current average, though he probably watched multiple movies at once as opposed to watching one movie in one sitting. I used to watch him watch movies, and his patience often wore thin.

The most vivid movie-watching experience that we'd ever had actually took place over the course of a few days. During those two to three days in the summer of 2000, we sneaked into the theater everyday and watched Castaway at least twice, which amounts to about six viewings of a nearly three-hour movie. Something about this modern-day Robinson Crusoe resonated very deeply with us. And this was a saga that Dave could bear. (He often used the word saga to refer to anything that took a long time; a medical visit, therefore, could become a saga depending on how tardily the doctor saw him.)

Relationships are kept together by binding ties. The binding tie between my oldest brother, Alex, and me is sports--most of our best and most intimate conversations revolve around what trade, game, or controversy consumes the only three sports that matter to us: basketball, baseball and football. Dave and I had more than a few binding ties, but movies was definitely one of the more important ones. When we got together for any conversation that lasted over ten minutes, movie-talkin' would be on the agenda.

Dave subscribed to Blockbuster's movie-by-mail offer, and The Go-Getter was the current movie he had when he passed. He apparently had already watched it, sealed it, and only had to put it in the mailbox. When I looked at the title, it occurred to me that it perfectly described his character--he was a go-getter. When he decided that he'd pursue music, he let nothing get in his way. Additionally, the movie's protagonist is an alienated teenager. Dave suffered bouts of alienation (the song below describes this). Sometimes, I picture him and I in something like Borges' Library of Babel discussing The Stranger and The Metamorphosis. After all, I've been there too. We all have.

I'm an emotional movie-watcher, and it isn't rare for me to get red-eyed during sentimental scenes (particularly those aided by musical scores). Dave didn't share this "weakness," in his words, with me, but I could often see him tremble during climactic scenes. Now, whenever I watch a movie where a character dies, I especially have this weakness. The death of Sitka in Brother Bear was particularly distressing for me. At Sitka's funeral, I had to simply stop the movie as my emotions bubbled up. I eventually regathered myself and finished it.

One day, I hope to make a documentary about Dave. Not because he's my brother and I will always love him, but because he's a historical figure in every sense of the word. His intelligence and musical talent is unparalled in human existence, not to mention his joie de vivre, which is probably more important. I'm always reminded of him when I read Longfellow's "The Warden of the Cinque Ports":


Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited,
     The sun rose bright o'erhead;
Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated
     That a great man was dead.

Song composed and performed by Dave, "Little Girl"