Just about a year ago, thanks to Fausta I posted an exquisite little gem of a film short, by a young artist named Joe Gleason. He called the film “The Dinner Guest” and its simplicity and sweetness made people weep. At the time, I wrote:
“…the joys of anticipation to which we – in our era of immediate gratification – no longer allow ourselves. Perhaps that is why it made one of Fausta’s reader’s weep; perhaps we miss anticipation in our move to easy cynicism, and we miss the intimacies of family which allow us to know each other so well that we may both tease and enjoy each other.”
Men got a little misty-eyed, too, as reflected in my email, where one fellow wrote, “…this film evoked such a sense of sadness in me, is it just that we all knew who we were once and no longer do? Why do I feel like this film is asking me to remember who I am, and what a man, is?”
I think the beautifully set-up shots, and the inclusion of Bryn Terfel’s sweet Welsh lullabye, “Suo Gan,” help give the film that sense of what Fausta called “familiary and yearning.”
The other day Gleason dropped me a note linking to his latest short -it is very different, indeed- but it has that same deft touch; it communicates a rather naked affection for the messy, untethered little balls of hurt and hope that make up humanity. I think Gleason must be a very fine man, with a gift for sharp observation that is balanced and softened by an instinct for mercy. I wish him a great deal of success, and invite you to watch both of his films, here, and I hope you’ll send the link to everyone you know, and invite them to spend a few minutes with Gleason, too.