It is commonly assumed, and regularly taught, that the key difference between playwriting and screenwriting is that the former tells the bulk of its story with words (it is dialogue-driven), while the latter relies more heavily on images (it is camera-driven).
A movie about a family of Irish cops—that sounds like one you’ve seen before. But Pride and Glory contains a few unfamiliar notes, and it rings truer than most movies about corruption in the police ranks.
It was Marshall McLuhan, I believe, who first observed that the increased speed of transportation and communication had made the world a global village. That observation has become a commonplace. But we don’t usually focus on the aspect of the village metaphor that suggests we have become more, not less, parochial than our predecessors.
Suppose I scooped the whole sky in my hand, I couldn’t hold it. Yet hearing a goldfinch, I feel, well, yes, that tiny song might clench the whole primordial rumpus of the wind.
I wonder if she felt the fearful flame fly into her womb? What did she hear? Or maybe when God enters time, he’s quiet. Is the child in the manger meek so He, who fills all place, won’t scare us? After my mother’s death, I stood in darkness, bereft and tiny on an ocean pier, a spent coin. Night opened its purse and flung me up, expanding toward the stars.
Indigenous women in Bolivia are hand-weaving a small device used to seal holes in the hearts of infants. The simple, inexpensive device, called an occluder, is made of a single strand of superelastic metal. It takes several hours to fashion. Designed by a Bolivian cardiologist, the device has saved the lives of thousands of children born with this condition. The incidence of this birth defect in La Paz, Bolivia, is ten times higher than in other places due to the high altitude. The occluder is also made for export (BBC News, March 29).