On disappointments

Today at work I suddenly remembered that they were making a movie based on one of my very favorite books. Within a minute I knew that the movie had already come out earlier this year. Even though I knew I shouldn't, I continued by reading some reviews. As always, opinions clashed and many had a lot to say about the plot, the style, the cast. So many things were discussed, yet I found none that mentioned the relationship between the script and the original work of prose to a satisfying degree. Maybe this was for the best. I saved the trailer of the film till the evening, partly because I didn't want to watch it without sound at work.

I will watch the film once I get hold of it. I am prepared for the worst, as there is no way the masterful collection of words composed by Peter Bieri under his pseudonym, Pascal Mercier, can be successfully turned into a motion picture. Yet there is a small part in me that hopes that the film manages to capture at least some of the magic contained within the pages of Night Train To Lisbon.

"One who would really like to know himself would have to be a restless, fanatical collector of disappointments, and seeking disappointing experiences must be like an addiction, the all-determining addiction of his life, for it would stand so clearly before his eyes that disappointment is not a hot, destroying poison, but rather a cool, calming balm that opens our eyes to the real contours of ourselves."