The other night I watched “Stranger Than Fiction,” a film written by Zach Helm, directed by Marc Forster, and starring Will Ferrell, the radiant Maggie Gyllenhaal, Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson, and Queen Latifah. Ferrell plays an IRS auditor who finds himself the subject of narration only he can hear: narration that begins to affect his entire life, from his work, to his love-interest, to his death.
Reluctantly, I admit, I was swept away by Ferrell singing a song by Eric Wreckless, “Whole Wide World,” like Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova’s song from Once “Falling Slowly”: ”take this sinking boat and point it home, we’ve still got time / raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice” – what great lyrics.
What’s got me in this sappy mood? Like David Brooks, I am growing weary of the presidential campaign which is “all about message management, polls and tactics. The communication is swift, Blackberry-sized and prosaic. As you cover it, you feel yourself enclosed in its tunnel. Entire mental faculties go unused.”
For an escape, Brooks reads an essay written by Michael Ward, “C. S. Lewis and the Star of Bethlehem,”
…while we moderns see space as a black, cold, mostly empty vastness, with planets and stars propelled by gravitational and other forces, Europeans in the Middle Ages saw a more intimate and magical place. The heavens, to them, were a ceiling of moving spheres, rippling with signs and symbols, and moved by the love of God. The medieval universe, Lewis wrote, “was tingling with anthropomorphic life, dancing, ceremonial, a festival not a machine.”
When we say that a star is a huge flaming ball of gas, he wrote, we are merely describing what it is made of.
I am suffering from too many facts and too little meaning.
Whole Wide World
By Eric Wreckless
When I was a young boy
My mama said to me
There’s only one girl in the world for you
And she probably lives in Tahiti
I’d go the whole wide world
I’d go the whole wide world
Just to find her
Or maybe she’s in the Bahamas
Where the Carribean sea is blue
Weeping in a tropical moonlit night
Because nobody’s told her ’bout you
I’d go the whole wide world
I’d go the whole wide world
Just to find her
I’d go the whole wide world
I’d go the whole wide world
Find out where they hide her
Why am I hanging around in the rain out here
Trying to pick up a girl
Why are my eyes filling up with these lonely tears
When there’re girls all over the world
Is she lying on a tropical beach somewhere
Underneath the tropical sun
Pining away in a heatwave there
Hoping that I won’t be long
I should be lying on that sun-soaked beach with her
Caressing her warm brown skin
And then in a year or maybe not quite
We’ll be sharing the same next of kin
I’d go the whole wide world
I’d go the whole wide world
Just to find her
I’d go the whole wide world
I’d go the whole wide world
Find out where they hide her
PS Check out Agent Provacateur’s new campaign featuring Maggie.
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