1948’s ‘Letter from an Unknown Woman’
I am right now between two weddings: one in the Catskills and one in California’s wine country. I’m sitting at JFK at 4 AM after driving down from Woodstock, and trust me, I’m totally cracked out. The flight gets into San Francisco at 9 am; I get picked up by Lissa and James, and head up to Napa. What makes this worthwhile is the fact that both of the couples in question are perfect. When my writing buddy Greg talked about when he first started going out with advertising exec and future knitting store owner Erin, he said something like “What was great was that after we fell in love we realized that we also actually like each other.” The other couple, professional conflict resolution specialists Emily and Jared, is so perfect for each other that the first night I saw them together – before they even kissed for the first time – I had a flash of their wedding. They communicate so well they’re starting a company together.
Falling in love is easy — even I can pull that off. But being in love? Well, that requires art of a different order.
Honestly I think for most of us our emotional experience of love is much less like Greg and Erin and Emily and Jared’s bliss, and a lot more like the love story in week’s case in point:
1948’s Letter from an Unknown Woman.
The movie opens with one of the most elegant and concise character intros ever: two guys drop their buddy off at home, trying to talk him out of what seems to be a morning duel with someone who is “an excellent shot.” The buddies tell him he should get some sleep, and they’ll pick him up at 5am. To which the guy responds “I don’t mind so much being killed, but do you know how hard it is for me to get up in the morning?” That’s the guy’s third line. So when he heads into his house and is presented with a letter from a mysterious woman that begins “By the time you read this, I might be dead,” the thing you wonder is: Will what’s in the letter resurrect this man who is so clearly dead inside?
The letter tells the story of a woman who has been in love with the guy since she was a young girl. Basically, she stalked him. Somehow director Max Ophuls makes it seem sweet. Years later the man sees the girl when she’s a bit older, but doesn’t recognize her. Still, something about her intrigues him, and they go out on one of the greatest dates of all time
The guy’s a famous pianist and on the date he lays his game on her, which consists of talking about his really great piano playing. She listens politely, and then says “Yes, but it feels as if you’re still looking for something.” She proves that she knows him better than he knows himself, and for once in his depressed life he doesn’t feel completely alone. In other words, we learn that she may be a fool for love, but she’s not a fool: she knows him. At the end of the date they make love, he give her an “I’ll call you”, but doesn’t. Years later they meet again, and though he feels a strange pull towards her, he doesn’t recognize her yet again.
I mention all of this not to spoil the film but to point out how well it renders two very different kinds of unrequited love. For her, love can only exist from afar. She sees the man well enough to see deeper into his soul than he has ever been able to see himself. What she lacks is the courage to reveal herself to him. Even when she’s actually talking to him, she still feels comfortable only in the observer role. Hence the tragedy of the letter. Tragedy is always about finding courage too late.
For him, he only ever sees himself. He’s desperate to reveal his soul to anyone who’s willing to look, but because of that he only sees his own reflection. When he sees this woman who touched him so deeply, he doesn’t even recognize her because the most important thing isn’t who she is, but what she made him feel.
I’ll let you discover whether or not their better nature wins out, but suffice to say not everyone can do justice to the sheer majesty of the first blush of love, although for sure my friends Greg and Erin and Jared and Emily managed to pull it off.
Next week: a little horseplay and a whole lot of homoerotic subtext.
