It’s my unfortunate opinion that the brilliant soundtrack and original source novel made for much better experiences than the movie version of ‘The Virgin Suicides‘ – but even coming in a ghostly third to those artistic endeavors is no small feat, considering what lofty achievements they were and remain.
“They had killed themselves over the failure to find a love that none of us could ever be.” ~
The novel is haunting in the most gorgeously powerful ways. It’s remained in my memory for all these years because it had such a profound effect on me when it first came out, one of those few touchstone moments when the words or a writer coincide almost too perfectly with what you’re going through at the time, what you’re trying to work out, what you’re trying to survive.
It seems wrong that summer should be so dark some days, but so it is.
The music from the film, especially this cut ‘Playground Love’ is the epitome of summer dreaminess. It’s so dreamy you might not even realize how seductively it has pulled you beneath the surface of the pool, so gorgeous does it sound, so velvet-like are its caresses… and your body dares not even choke on the warm bubbly water. It pulls you down to the bottom by your very sex, sucking all of you in such devilishly delicious ways you don’t even notice you’re drowning.
The world looks mottled like a Monet when you’re on the bottom of the pool looking up.
These days I float placidly on the surface, diving down only in controlled and contained bursts of exploration. But I remember the days of drowning. I remember the days of tragedy. I remember the days without love.
“Her tragedy hadn’t made her more approachable, and in fact lent her the unknowable quality of a person who had suffered more than could be expressed.” ~
