An excerpt from "Killing Yourself to Live" by Chuck Klosterman:
In autumn of 1995, Quincy had a very short haircut, much like Winona[Ryder]'s hair in this particular film. There is a scene in Girl, Interrupted where Ryder sits on the floor and plays "Downtown" on an acoustic guitar, and – the moment I saw it – it completely reminded me of the Saturday morning I walked down into Q's basement bedroom while she was sitting on the carpet playing "Maggie May" on her acoustic guitar, real sad-like, and sporting that same severe haircut. It was the morning after we had drunkenly had sex for the first time, four hours after attending a screening of Leaving Las Vegas: That sexual encounter was something that was never supposed to have happened between us, and she was certain it was going to ruin both our lives. I remember feeling extremely guilty because I was so not-so-secretly ecstatic that it had finally happened. But when I saw her playing the guitar, I could tell that we were about to have a bone-wrenching discussion about what had happened the night before, and she was going to tell me things I did not want to hear, and that the only reason she slept with me is because she thought it would make me happy, somehow. And even though our relationship lasted for a year beyond that morning, and even though lots of things happened and lots of things changed, it is hard for me to reconcile that she probably hated herself on that overcast Saturday, and I'll always wonder if the remorse she felt while she strummed her guitar never really went away. So, when I finally saw that aforementioned scene from Girl, Interrupted-and when I saw this image of Winona playing a guitar that looked exactly like my memory of Quincy playing a guitar-that overcast Saturday morning was immediately what I thought about. It was like getting smashed in the throat with a 38-ounce Louisville Slugger. And the irony is that I've always loved the song "Downtown." It's one of my 50 favorite songs of all time; it's either the happiest sad song ever recorded, or it's the saddest happy song ever recorded. But now, every time I hear Petula Clark's voice from December 1964, I think of a scene from 1999's Girl, Interrupted, which makes me think of the morning of February 11, 1996, which makes me feel guilty for prompting a woman to perform a heartfelt rendition of a Rod Stewart song from 1971.
Artists who believe they have any control over the interpretation of their work are completely fooling themselves.
# posted by Stephen Hungerford @ 2:58 PM
