I watch people. I observe, quietly and from a distance. Like a naturalist out in the wild, I do this so that I might better understand the behaviors of others—all y’all are often a mystery to me—and, in seeing what it is that makes them tick, take that knowledge and use it to create more believable characters in my writing.
If you study what moves someone emotionally, you can learn a lot about them, but while this works well with other people, I find that it doesn’t work well when I try to do it on myself. That is, I can’t seem to learn much about myself when I study the things that affect me. Other folks? When something makes them happy, sad, angry, it’s usually pretty clear why. But for me? All my deductions, all my insights are obscured by the fog of my own feelings, and the reason why I feel the things I feel remains a mystery.
Example: Miyako.
“Miyako” is a short film by Erez Sitzer (the video is below). It’s only three and a half minutes long. It comprises a single, static camera shot. There is no dialog, no sound other than the music Sitzer chose as a soundtrack.
In the film, we see a small, one-car train pull into a tiny station in rural Japan. A young woman, the stationmaster, Miyako, meets the train. She smiles at the departing passengers, chats with the engineer, and then, as the train pulls away, she waves.
That’s it. Seriously. That is all there is to it.
But there is so much more embedded within that simple narrative.
When I watched it, I was completely transfixed by the scene, the setting, and especially by Miyako herself. Her poise, her stance, the way she cants forward when she speaks, the animation of her white-gloved hands, spirited, elegant. And then as the train departs, she says goodbye first with small bow, then with a salute, and finally with a wave, a wave, a wave, given while the train disappears down the track. A wave, a wave, half signal, have farewell, formal yet fond, almost a performance, a wave given long after anyone on the train could ever see it.
The film faded to black, the credits rolled, and I found that I was smiling and crying at the same time. Even now, in retrospect, it affects me. Why?
I cannot say. The beauty of it, the gathered grace of Miyako’s movements and gestures, the contained formality of her motion, it was like a dance, elegant and meaningful. Her awareness—her mindfulness—of her actions, suffuses them with deeper meaning, giving us a glimpse of what is important to her. I can build stories around the character I see in this film. I can imagine a personality and history based on each simple, thoughtful action…
But I cannot tell you why it brought tears to my eyes. What was I feeling? Appreciation. Wonder. Enjoyment of the visual. Nostalgia. Envy. Wistfulness. Peace.
Why?
No bloody idea.
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I think it is significant that the filmmaker has named the film “Miyako” only, instead of “young couple in love” or something which would imply that the relationship is reciprocal. My interpretation of Miyako’s behavior is based on her staying as long as possible, instead of walking away when all the passengers have gone, and that she is talking. This might also imply that the engineer is actually interested, too.
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It’s so much easier to look with objectivity when our emotions are not the ones at stake, right? And then the clarity comes . . .
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Why does a swan move the way it does? Probably for the same reason as Miyako. Thank you for this.
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I wonder how much of my response is a specifically male reaction. The few I’ve heard from who had similar reactions are male. I haven’t heard of such a reaction from any women– though several have “liked” this post. Could it be that Miyako’s mannerisms, which seem so very old school Japanese to me, tap into some male hardwiring?
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Although you mentioned her “chat” with the engineer, I wouldn’t call it a chat! What I read into this film (from a woman’s perspective?) is that Miyako is in love with the engineer. The highlight of her day is the time during which he is actually trapped in place at the train stop and she has his full attention!
Unlike others who pass her by unseeing, these two, Miyako and the engineer, focus on one another though the fact that we are not shown the face of the engineer, makes me wonder if the message is that it is Miyako who is in love, not he! I see her extended wave as a symbol that her heart has gone on down the tracks with the train. Forgetting that the train is out of sight, she keeps waving while thinking of her moments of connection.
For women, much of our lives is spent facilitating the activities of others, being the support staff while they go on down the tracks — like our grown children! I am still here, left behind, waving and thinking of our fleeting years of close relationship. But the next generation is facing forward to the next station.
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Actually, I did have that thought, but then I wondered if I was falling into the male-pattern conceit of “If she smiles at me/looks at me/doesn’t treat me badly, she must be interested in me.” I certainly think you could write that story, based on what we see, but there is so much I do not know about Japanese culture, that I could be reading that in, based on my Western view.
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