-Why are you so into pinot? I mean, it's like a thing with you.
-It's a hard grape to grow. As you know, Right?It's uh...It's thin-skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It's, you know, it's not a survivor like cabernet, which can just grow anywhere and thrive even when it's neglected. No, pinot needs constant care and attention, you know? And in fact, it can only grow in these really specific, little tucked-away corners of the world. And only the most patient and nurturing of growers can do it, really. Only somebody really takes the time to understand pinot's potential, can then coax it into its fullest expression. And then? I mean...Oh it's flavors, they're just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and ancient on the planet. No, I mean, you know, cabernets can be powerful and exalting too, but they seem prosaic to me, for some reason, by comparison.
When I watched it for the first time three and a half years ago, I knew that "I just watched it once and I'm not sure what I understood, but I slowly appreciate it." Today, I rewatched it on the big screen in the archives. With the guidance of the old film, I consciously smelled the mellow aroma of wine. Looking back at the short comments I wrote three and a half years ago, I hardly want to recognize myself at that time. The power of experience evaporates, and of course... also makes people age.
Wine and wine often fail, not to mention life. But like a broken face, a broken car can be repaired. "Last year they were getting divorced, and this year they are getting married." It's not difficult to get a marriage like Jack, but the hard part is that you choose to be reincarnated as a Pinot and don't want to spoil yourself in the mouths of people who don't know good taste.
What I'm afraid of is that as time goes by, and despair gradually grows, even the 1961 Cheval Blanc can be poured into a plastic cup without caring. "I'm so insignificant, I can't even kill myself."
"The marrow of his bone," I repeated aimlessly. This, at last, penetrated my mind. Phineas had died, from the marrow of his bone flowing down his blood stream to his heart. I did not cry then or ever about Finny. I did not cry even when I stood watching him being lowered into his family's straitlaced burial ground outside of Boston. I could not escape the feeling that this was my own funeral , and you do not cry in that case.
Desperate Miles confided himself in A Separate Peace through the mouth of an English class student. Anger is better than sadness, and sadness is better than despair. Heart has been buried, but fortunately there is a message on the answering machine.
Friends are hard to find, one is enough. Pinot waited for the patient planter, what does it matter if the book is published or not?
Miles, who has always been gray-blue, put on a red shirt, knocked on Maya's door, and the curtain ended, just like the blank at the end of the book, that's enough.
View more about Sideways reviews
