Driving Time

"Here's what hurts the most," Kafuku said. "I didn't truly understand her--or at least some crucial part of her. And it may well end that way now that she's dead and gone. Like a small, locked safe lying at the bottom of the ocean. It hurts a lot."

Tatsuki thought for a moment before speaking.

"But Mr. Kafuku, can any of us ever perfectly understand another person? However much we may love them?” 

― Haruki Murakami, "Drive My Car"

*********

Dear Kate,

How do you turn a skeleton of a short story into a three-hour cinematic meditation on grief and regret, confessions and revelations—and(!) earn the first best picture Oscar nod for a Japanese film?

This is a genuine question, because I knew the story well, and strange enough, the last Murakami book I reread before I heard about the movie was his short story collection "Men Without Women," from which the first story "Drive My Car" came the adaptation.

When I heard "three hours" I thought, OK, here comes "Maborosi" on long play—which is great...but no one is going to watch it.  The fact that "Drive My Car" has driven so far this award season means it's been watched and loved by more than a handful of arthouse audience.  Now I was going from enthusiastic to ecstatic.

I have yet to watch the movie.  I am going to set aside sacred time and do that, hopefully soon enough.

Why is it so hard for us to pay attention?  Because time is the rarest "commodity" in our industrial world.  It takes too darn long, too much risk and trouble, to speak authentically to anyone.  We need to work with simple categories and general assumptions even when looking into a mirror.  There is no time to see twice, let alone think.

Here are the front and back cover of the Murakami short story collection.  I think I have shown you them before.  How does a jigsaw piece turn into a woman (女) (or is it the other way around?) is what I am about to find out.

Yours, Alex