Reflections on "Perception"

SPIRITUAL ALERT!  This is Catholic stuff!

If what we perceive is often wrong, how can we ever know what's real, and what isn't? 

Eric McCormack as Dr. Daniel Pierce on the TNT show Perception (Mondays at 10pm)

Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen. 

Hebrews 11:1; New American Bible; Imprimatur 1986

One of the things that makes my life worth living is the anticipation of my favorite episodic television shows.  I was born at the advent of the TV culture, and among my earliest memories are those delicious moments looking forward to a visit from Mighty Mouse, Lucy, Danny Kaye, and later, The Monkees (Hey Hey!) and Dean Martin.  In my adulthood my weekly relish of regularly scheduled programs has not diminished, and through the first decade of this century I lived and died by The West Wing.  Now, my focus is on Perception, a new basic cable program starring Eric McCormack.

Eric McCormack is a likeable, gifted actor who made his first big impression on audiences in the breakthrough sitcom Will and Grace.  In his portrayal of Will, an openly gay man, navigating life and love with his bff Grace, played by Debra Messing, McCormack broke new cultural ground.  He was the first main character in a successful sitcom who established himself as out and proud from the first episode.  Remember that in Ellen, Ellen DeGeneres and her TV character did not come out until a couple of seasons into the show, which unfortunately tanked once she did.  Though DeGeneres pioneered Gay representation in major TV roles, it was McCormack’s Will who fully broke through the barriers.

With Perception, he brings to the screen another under-represented character, the functioning schizophrenic.  This series could be dismissed as just another odd couple/sexual tension  crime-solver show (think The Mentalist and Castle … all the way back to Moonlighting, Remington Steele and, come to think of it, Sherlock Holmes and Watson).  But upon close inspection, it brings a philosophical twist which infuses deeper meaning in every episode. 

For those who do not watch the show, the premise is that Dr. Daniel Pierce, a brilliant  neuroscience professor (and diagnosed schizophrenic), is recruited by a former student, now an FBI agent, to consult with the Bureau on cases that call for his particular expertise.  No longer taking his meds, Pierce responds to the new pressures with increasing episodes of hallucination.  However, and here is the hook, the hallucinations help solve the crime of the week.  They offer clues from his subconscious mind and also provide insights into his own ongoing struggle with functionality. 

As a believer, deeply attracted to the mystic, metaphysical aspects of Roman Catholicism, it was not a leap to connect Pierce with the great Saints and the Great Knowing.  We who are believers:  what are we if not creatures who commune with phantoms?  Counsel and comfort are found by chanting rosary prayers and (thank you, Martin Luther!) addressing the Supreme Being directly.  Bill Maher describes Christians as crazy people with an imaginary friend named Jesus.  Funny.  The more learned tend to accept that talking to G-d is normal and productive, but it is the ones who hear Him answer back that we have to worry about.  Well, I hear Him answer back.  Quite clearly and all the time.

If any of my film students have wandered into this posting, that clank and thud heard in the background right now is some of them dropping my classes.  Certainly, for academic purposes I revel in rationally analyzing the core and content of motion picture arts and their historical and cultural contexts.  This is my secular, intellectual side which gives me great satisfaction and deeply informs my sense of self.  Equally important– more so  – is my intense spiritual sense, an awareness of something beyond myself that knows me and guides me and infuses me; It is all around me but It is not about me, rather I am about It.  This is impossible but it is as real to me always as the keyboard beneath my fingers is at this moment. 

Which brings us back to Perception.  One of the taglines of the program is “Reality is just a figment of your imagination.”  The premise is that, as the quote at the top of this article demonstrates, “real” is a matter of, well, perception.  And there’s science to prove it.  And, by the way, I think there’s Scripture to prove it, too.

And there’s that clanking and thud again.  Scripture is at best an uncomfortable word for many.  Sorry to say, this is understandable.  Scripture has been used by zealots - too much, too tragically - as a hammer with which to hit people over the head, to beat them into senseless submission, to impose conformity, to insist that ancient all inclusive rules (including those, pray tell, for growing crops and weaving cloth?) – that rules which were correct for 5000 BCE - are still imperatives for NOW. 

That is not God and that is not Scriptural.  For me, the Bible represents the best efforts, over millennia, of earnest enlightened people who devoted their lives to understanding that unseen Entity, towards reaching out to It.  Because we are human, and the quest for knowledge is our irresistible compulsion, we continue to try to define the indefinable, to grasp that which is ultimately beyond our corporeal senses.  Such is the Koran, the Bible, the Catechism of the Catholic Church and Quantum Physics. 

Yes, we are still talking about TV. 

Thus, as Pontius Pilate asked “What is truth?”  Daniel Pierce asks “What is real?”  Pierce and the show exist in a dichotomy:  the crime-solving hallucinations are acknowledged as unreal, and yet at the same time the subjective nature of reality is also acknowledged. 

So…..are visions and voices and Words from On High merely deliria or actually alternative realities coexistent with the scientifically provable? 

So….inevitably we encounter St. Joan.

In a recent Perception episode entitled “Messenger”, these discernable parallels between psychosis and Gnosis were confronted head on.  Daniel declares his impatient disdain for those who perpetrate the god myth, and then must make sense of an earnest young prophet as resolved in the veracity of his Holy Voices as Daniel is resolved in his Atheism.  These two are cut from the same cloth:  as Daniel sees phantoms and acts on their counsel, the prophet hears the Voice of God and acts on that counsel.  Daniel easily accepts the obvious diagnosis of his own delusions, and seeks reasons for the voices the prophet hears, once convinced that the man is not a charlatan.

Around this central conflict between two questionable realities a murder must be solved, and Daniel’s hallucinatory assistant for this case is Joan of Arc, a figment of his subconscious who illuminates the clues his conscious mind misses while questioning his questioning of validity in religious faith.   The theoretical arguments – some spoken, some unspoken – become more and more tangled with the introduction of Joan as alter-ego for Daniel.  Here is an historical figure who also acted on the advice of those who could not be seen nor heard by others, and here is an historical figure who has been diagnosed - albeit posthumously - with mental disease to explain her presumed illusions.  That Joan in her lifetime believed unwaveringly in the validity of her spiritual encounters creates the spectral Joan as a meeting place between Daniel, the hallucinating rationalist and his counterpart, the hallucinating devout.

Ultimately, Daniel and science seemingly prevail (yeah, yeah, the murder is solved in a plot turn stolen from A Stranger Among Us – but that is not important).  The prophet is diagnosed with a life-threatening brain tumor.

But wait – curiouser and curiouser!  Just as Daniel refuses to medicate, convinced he needs the company of his phantoms, our young prophet refuses surgery, unwilling to relinquish his powerful connection to God.  Both cling to that which makes them diminished in the eyes of others, perceiving those assumed impediments to be imperative to who they are as human beings.  

Big finish.  The prophet is rushed into surgery to save his life. 

After he recovers from the removal of the tumor, the prophet tells Daniel that he still hears from God – not with a big booming voice, as before, but quietly, “…in here”, and he points to to his heart.  One cannot help but reflect on the “still, small voice” that Elijah heard. (1Kings 19:12)

What is the intent of Perception.  Can’t resist saying it’s a matter of perception.  (ouch).  But it is.  Yes, yes, it’s a formulaic crime show.  Yes, yes, it’s a character study.  Most importantly, at least to me, the show is not about questioning religious practice or questioning anti-psychotic drug effectiveness but rather about questioning certainty. 

A scientist friend of mine, as dedicated to his Atheism as I am  to my Deism, said to me recently, “Energy is a constant in the universe.  So when someone dies, the energy in their body does not disappear.  But we don’t know where it goes.”  Therein lays the gray area between our two philosophies.  It is within the not knowing that all things are possible.

Or so I perceive it to be.  

Perception is on hiatus and does not return with new episodes until summer 2013! :(   But..
Season One episodes, including "Messenger" can be viewed on Cox On Demand... And...
Full episodes can be viewed online:  Click here for the TNT website.

Turandot and The Puccini Moment

OK, OK, so this is an opera and not a movie.  At least, to my knowledge Turandot has not been filmed for cinematic audiences only.  However, there exists a video of a sumptuous production for the Met designed by Franco Zeffirelli and starring Placido Domingo (a reason to live all on his own) Eva Marton, and a truly stunning Leona Mitchell.  There is also a terrific 2-disc collection of the entire opera performed by Birgit Nilsson, Renata Tebaldi, and – glory of glories – Jussi Bjerling. 

First of all, for the uninitiated, every opera lover has “The Puccini Moment.”  It is the one moment in the work, whichever Puccini opera that might be, that grabs you for life.  You don’t have to like Puccini – I don’t, particularly.  But he had a way of creating an emotional piece in each of his operas that rips your heart out and holds it captive forever.  I knew a woman – a mature, rational, intelligent and sophisticated woman – who crumbled into tears in the cold light of day from her mere attempt to recount her Puccini moment from La Boheme. 

In short, The Puccini Moment is a moment to live for, and to die for. 

Once you have one, the memory does not leave you and you crave to relive it over and over again.  Thank God for modern recording media. 

Which brings us to my Puccini Moment.  I first found it while watching the Domingo video – actually I’ve never even seen the opera performed live, which may be for the best.

The Moment needs a setup, particularly since it occurs at the end of the first act and there is so much that has NOT happened.  But the activity which precedes the Act 1 closing aria, “Non piangere Liu (Do not cry, Liu)” brilliantly underwrites and colors all that is to come in subsequent acts.

Turandot takes place “In Peking, in legendary times.”  Into the ancient city wanders Calaf,  a deposed Tartar Prince craving reunion with his father and restoration of his dynasty.  He first finds his father, now frail and blind, cared for by their loyal servant, Liu.  Liu alone has remained devoted to the usurped king, this due to her abiding love for Calaf, a love which grew out of a single smile he conferred upon her in their distant past.

The happy meeting is marred when they notice a collection of severed heads decorating the walls of Princess Turandot’s palace.  Turandot is a cruel, icy, bitter monarch who fanatically protects herself from a dire prediction.  The prediction is that she will be raped and denied her crown by an outsider.  The protection is a riddle posed to all suitors.  A man who wishes to approach her must strike the palace gong 3 times.  If he replies correctly to the riddle he will win her hand.  If he fails, he will lose his head.  No one has succeeded, hence the extensive cranial impalements. 

Calaf finds this practice particularly offensive when he observes Turandot’s latest victim, the fair and gentle Prince of Persia.  Calaf angrily demands to know what kind of monster would be so vile to kill so fine a young man.  As he rails, Turandot, ensconced in her tower, reveals herself for an instant and, of course, the Tartar Prince performs a 180, immediately falling in desperate love with her.  Obviously, he sees in her all he has lost, and all he hopes to regain.  There, in the impenetrable heart of Turandot, is a promise of love, fortune, and power restored.  His indefatigable pride and confidence assure him that no riddle, no frozen heart, no axe to the neck will prevent his victory.  He is convinced that his humiliation and anger will end with three rings of a gong. 

But Timur, his father, and Liu have suffered too much, grieved too long, travelled too far.  They crave peace and rest; they want time to celebrate their reunion with Calaf and see his sudden obsession as a guarantee of disaster and death.  Indeed, (SPOILER ALERT), Liu will ultimately give her life for Calaf’s endeavor.  To know this ahead of time, that two acts hence this heartbreakingly faithful girl will die rather than betray the man she loves, even as he pursues his passion for another, truly informs the depth of my Puccini Moment, which at this point of the story is upon us.

Timur and Liu beg Calaf to abandon his folly and come away with them.  Liu begins to cry, and Calaf sings what at first is a lilting and tender ballad…

Non piangere Liu – Do not weep … if I smiled at you once long ago… I smile no more…She is calling me … I have suffered too much … I follow my destiny…

As the music builds to tsunamic crescendo, blending high romantic opera orchestration with sprinkles of Asian musicality, Liu and Timur cling to Calaf as he moves toward the gong, entreating him to stop; the increasingly unruly crowd derides him.  The chorus, the full orchestra, Calaf’s tenor voice soaring over them, build and rise and then stop –

Calaf  calls out “Turandot” three times, and then strikes the gong.

Everyone’s fate is sealed.

Curtain.

Uncontrollable sobbing.  (feels so good!)

Actually, Turandot, being as it is the final opera composed by Puccini, has two Puccini Moments for me.  The second is shared by, and is the same for, all opera aficionados. 

Giacomo Puccini died before writing the final music for Turandot and the score had to be finished by another composer, Franco Alfano.  The opera’s debut was a posthumous performance conducted by Puccini’s great friend, Arturo Toscanini. 

At this first performance, after Liu’s death scene, which was the last music composed by Puccini, Toscanini put his baton down, turned to the audience and said, “Here, the maestro laid down his pen.” 

At first there was a long silence.  Then, suddenly, a spectator called out “Viva Puccini!” and La Scala erupted in endless, thundering applause and standing ovation.  When the clapping and cheering finally ceased, an emotionally and physically exhausted audience left, and Franco Alfano’s finish was not to be heard that night.  

Big Night

It was a dreary late afternoon.  I was nearly bedridden, undergoing chemotherapy, debilitated and discouraged.  I could not remember why I wanted to cling so tenaciously to life.  With all of the downbeat consequences of a cancer diagnosis and treatment, the most disheartening for me was to lose my appetite and love of food. 

My maternal grandparents were Mexican immigrants, and the kitchen, the cooking, the meal – they were all wrapped up in Grandma’s endless love.  Our immediate and extended family would celebrate wonderful occasions at the bountiful table of our communal meals.

As an adult, I knew I had met The One when my future husband expressed delight over the first meal I prepared for him.  It was a humble plate, enchiladas rice and beans, but he beamed like a happy child as he exclaimed “This is just like the rice my favorite Aunt used to make!”

A few months later, he celebrated our declarations of Love by going out and buying a bigger dining room set.

“Now we can have dinner parties,” he explained.  We were meant for each other.

But on that dreary afternoon, 26 years later, he was dead, I feared I was dying, and for some reason, at that moment, the only course of action was to watch a movie.

I popped Big Night into the player.  I have no recollection of my reason for pulling that particular movie off the shelf.  It had long been a favorite, but beyond that I don’t think I was considering why.  Before long I knew why, better than ever, and that day Stanley Tucci’s little masterpiece was my reclamation.

Big Night (1996) is a comedy/drama which takes place in New York some time in the 1950s.  It tells the story of two Italian immigrant brothers, and through them we see two opposing stories of immigrant life in America.  Secondo, played by co-writer/co-director Stanley Tucci, embraces assimilation, while the other, Primo, played by Tony Shaloub, clings to Italian attitudes and traditions.  Their very names communicate their situations.  Primo means first – first born, therefore head of the family; first generation, among immigrants the generation closest to the old country.  Secondo means second – second born, therefore scrambling to keep up, to support, to give deference to and yet compete with the first; second generation, among immigrants the hipper, savvier generation, straining to break free from the old ways.  The push-pull of this fraternal relationship is primal and thus palpable from the first scenes of the film. 

Another primal element which drives Big Night is food and the communal meal (yes, there is sex, but this essay is not intended to address that sort of hunger…).

Primo and Secondo are close to losing their small Italian restaurant named Paradise (an ironic allusion to immigrant hopes).  Less than a block away is Pascal's, a big, lively and popular Italian eatery that consumes the local business – pun intended.  Secondo believes that to find success, they must emulate the competition and offer accessible, Americanized fare.  Primo, on the other hand, is a culinary purist, determined to educate the local palates in the subtleties of fine Italian dining and disdainful of the cheesy, saucy, clichéd dishes presented by the other restaurant.  Primo dismisses Secondo’s menu suggestions by offering to serve hot dogs.  His struggle to pronounce the words “hot dog” correctly is just one way in which this film subtly underscores the issues of the transplanted in this country.

Despite his envy and competitive bent, or maybe because of it, Secondo has struck up a friendship with Pascal (Ian Holm), the vulgar and conniving owner of the other restaurant.  Pascal boasts acquaintance with many a star of stage and screen (evidenced by pictures on his office wall). Surprisingly and seemingly uncharacteristically, Pascal offers to bring the then-wildly popular singer Louis Prima to eat at Paradise in order to help Secondo save his restaurant by promoting the visit.  Prima, of course, is another word for first and another reference to ordinance, priority, and perhaps capitalist pecking order.

Primo readies to prepare the meal of his life, and Secondo spends the last of their capital to provide the ingredients.  There is no turning back – the dinner for Louis Prima will be the big night that will be either their salvation or their destruction. 

The sequence that restored my own waning dreams was the arc of the big night itself.  By this time we have been introduced to the other members of the splendid cast, including Allison Janney, Isabella Rossallini, Mimi Driver, Marc Anthony, and Campbell Scott (who also co-directed).  They all assemble in attendance at Primo’s table. 

As I watched and the onscreen festivities escalated, so did my mood.  The diners schmoozed and drank and waited anxiously for the celebrity arrival.  They mugged and danced to the goofy songs that were popularized in that era by Rosemary Clooney and Louis Prima himself. 

Periodically, we cut to Primo’s preparation and finally, a sumptuous Italian dinner is served: 

Intertitles remind us that all in life is ordered, including the courses of a meal:  Primo – Zuppa; Secondo – Risotto.  Then, Primo unveils his specialty, the spectacular Timpano.  Timpano a la Big Night is a massive pasta pie containing meatballs, sausage, ziti, cheese, sauce, and hard-boiled eggs, encased in a perfectly browned crust.  With the table-side cutting of the timpano, the meal fully launches and sprightly Italian music takes us through the diner’s delight and pleasure in the food and in each other. 

I could not help but weep with joy and gratitude.  Gratitude, that is, for the many precious memories which flooded back, reminding me of the delight and pleasure of our loved ones as they gathered around our dining table.  I remembered my “Big Night” dinner party where I screened the movie for guests and then served the timpano, having found the recipe on the internet.  Everyone was as satisfied on my big night as their counterparts were in Big Night the movie.

What about Louis Prima?  Do the brothers save their restaurant?  Do they abandon each other, one to return to Italy?  I don’t want to enter spoilers here.  The film is worth viewing to find out the answers.  I highly recommend it .

Of course others may or may not like Big Night.  Others may or may not like Italian cooking.  It is hard to predict public tastes as our appetites for entertainment are as varied as our appetites for food.  But, getting back to that day as I watched this picture from a sickbed: by the end of the movie the weather was still dreary but my life was not.  I remembered that the same table my husband lovingly purchased was still downstairs in my dining room.  I vowed that I would not die, that I would recover fully to someday prepare another timpano, on another Big Night, with the people I cherish sitting around a table bought long ago in anticipation of love and celebration.

Ultimately, the power of Big Night turns not only on food ritual, community, priority and  the persistence of hope.  It separates itself with ambiguity and avoids a tidy "Hollywood ending."  It is not grim, but it is honest.  It touches more serious, even darker issues as it explores the consequences of the unrealized "American Dream" and the fallout from infidelity and disappointment.  Directors Tucci and Scott achieve an intimacy that brings us, as an audience, literally to the table.  They gift us with a richly textured film of depth and humor.  On one crucial afternoon, Big Night restored my appreciation for those blessings and challenges that make life worth living.