When I was 12, I had this strange habit of watching ancient black and white films just to make fun of them. Until, I saw On The Beach and it completely changed my life.I was young, so maybe I didn't understand the deeper meanings, but at the time it was one of the most beautiful films I'd ever seen. To say the least, I was surprised there was so much meaning packed inside.
On The Beach is a 1959 film set in 1964, right after World War III, right after all the bombs fall, atom bombs blossoming in the sunset. Gregory Peck, Anthony Perkins, Ava Gardner and Fred Astaire are four people living in Austrailia, awaiting huge clouds of radiation to float down and suffocate the world's only survivors. The film focuses on the last scraps of humanity, slowly being eaten away, the extreme existential emotions of expecting the inevitable.
A lone submarine journeys to America to investigate a strange Morse code signal and find survivors, but upon arrival in San Francisco the crew realizes their worst fears. The end really came.
And so they submarine returns to Austrailia and the characters wait. They go to the pharmacy and the government gives them suicide pills if they wish, and everyone waits.
A few people fulfill their lifetime dreams in quiet desperation. Fred Astaire races a vintage Ferrari. Ava Gardner and Gregory Peck have a romantic fling. Old men sit in their country clubs and complain about the wine. A waiter plays pool. Everyone goes fishing and they sing, "Waltzing Matilda".
They do meaningless, stupid things because they want to. Because they can. They want to add some last-minute purpose to their doomed, pathetic existences. And then the power flickers out.
For years, the poignant imagery in the film has been stuck in my mind. The empty streets of San Francisco, the empty Golden Gate Bridge. The S.O.S. Coke bottle in the window. The banner, waving in the wind, proclaiming, "THERE IS STILL TIME. . . BROTHER." Few plot lines fascinate me as much as the inevitable.
I realize that my introduction to On The Beach was my first experience with existentialism. And I am an existentialist as well as a follower of Christ. They don't always contradict. My existentialist views can be good because of the retarded anxiety they produce. I am constantly trying to accomplish the goals and dreams I have, as if I'm already a decapitated chicken.
To the rest of the world, On The Beach was a warning to the world, a promise more poignant than The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951) (another film I saw merely to make fun of and ended up loving). And perhaps the message of OTB was not entirely a don't-blow-yourself-up plea. Maybe it was a reflection of humanity. At this moment in time, we humans aren't facing imminent extinction, at least that we know of (global warming aside), but we all have the same anxieties. We all have these dreams and awkward motivations to somehow make our eating, sleeping, shitting, breathing MEAN something.
Only, because, since we don't fear death as much as the Australians watching the skyline from the Beach, we suppress our desires. Procrastinate. We never worry about that next breath.
I always come back to this, because I believe life has the meaning we give it: life means nothing unless we recognize our Creator and more so, realize brokenness is the only way to survive. In that sense, On The Beach completely changed the way I look at life and got me closer to God. At least, in an "eat, drink and be merry" sorta way.
It's kind of terrifying to be so open about that belief, but I'm not trying to belittle anyone who doesn't agree with me, only it can come across that way.
Still, I hope to live life with the helpless anxiety portrayed in the doomed eyes of Anthony Perkins as he serves his wife and child cyanide laced tea. Or maybe without that gaze. I can't decide.
I leave off with what Yeoman Swain said in the film, right before he jumped ashore in San Francisco, essentially committing suicide, "I have a date on Market Street, Captain. I'm going home."
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