Library of Inspiration: Far From Heaven

Swirls of rusty reds, burnt oranges, bright yellows, and deep sea greens stretch for miles—the progression from life to loss is never more eloquent or neatly framed than it is during the mystical, annual ritual that takes place when fall’s vivid hues bleed over crusty daydreams of summer, leaving behind a vast and awe-inspiring canvas of death. Gone. Time finds a way to stand immeasurably still. As if the past, present, and future are joined in the intersection of an eclipse.

This is why we now flash back to a retro destination: the 1950s. One glimpse of the color palate from this bygone era reminds us immediately of fall, as if we truly are locked in the eclipse, a neverland of past and present. An Oldsmobile Rocket 88 drives by, streaked in the pale soft green of October’s fading grass. A vinyl-topped Ford Custom Crestliner glows in a bright canary yellow reminiscent of yesterday’s sun. And there goes a teal Chevrolet Skyline followed in short order by a classic pink Cadillac Coupe DeVille. Their drivers are rushing home (perhaps a bit buzzed from after work cocktails) to go and relax at last in lovely parlors that are elegantly adorned with rosewood veneer sideboard cabinets sitting to the side of martini olive sofas, angled hard and stiff. A bright orange Eames LAR armchair isn’t too far away. Each piece and each color is in total harmony, firmly entrenched in it’ perfect little place.

Cathy Whiitaker (Julianne Moore): Oh Frank, are you alright? What happened?

Frank Whiitaker (Dennis Quaid): Everything’s fine. It was all just a big mix up. The whole thing.

The horn from a fire engine shocks the hell out of the silence, but only momentarily, like a quick jab. There is a fire somewhere on the outskirts of town, but too far off in the invisible distance for it to be anything more than the fiction that occurs on the other side of town, so far away from real life.

Cathy: So there were … drinks after work.

It is impossible to pay any notice. It is a newspaper story that tries to leap from the page in order to warn us that all may not be as it seems. A red flag, no longer limp, begins to rise atop the whiff of a breeze, waving ever so gently. Gently.

Cathy: Every girl has her secrets.

Of course, in the land of faultlessness and fiction, warnings and red flags are easily ignored. There remain too many things to attend to in the realm of idyllic lives. A quick look the other way, off the page, pushes everything aside. How easy it is to be forever blinded by the glow that emanates from perfect bliss.

Cathy: But really, my life is like any other wife or mother’s. In fact … I don’t think I’ve … ever wanted anything.

And then, a crack. A fingerprint, plain as day, staining the middle of a shiny, well-polished table. The maid is getting lazy. It mocks, so ugly and oily in the reflection of the late afternoon sun.

Frank: I know it’s a sickness because it makes me feel despicable.

The momentum rolls like thunder. You scramble for cover.

Cathy: I just wish it didn’t have to turn ugly in front of our friends.

Oddly, the spotlight is as traumatic as the truth itself. In a blaze of betrayal, the trophy case of pride crashes into a thousand shards of exploding debris.

Eleanor Fine (Patricia Clarkson): Cathy, I’m your dearest friend in the entire world. You call me day or night. You hear?

Just be very careful where you turn. Sometimes, support is nothing more than poorly pasted wallpaper, bubbling and peeling at the first hint of moisture. Another delicate layer of the fortress turned house of cards.

Raymond: It seems to be the one place where whites and coloreds are in full harmony.

Maybe there really is a place where all the dying colors of fall, if not understood, are celebrated, even cherished for their unique and delicate beauty with no traces of the doom and gloom that accompanies winter’s brisk approach. And if such a celebration can be, it is here then where we will finally be safe. Even in the total dark of an eclipse.

Or maybe, we are reduced to a different dream.

Cathy: No one would know us there.

A place to disappear completely.

-G