If I were sentenced to spend eternity viewing only one film of my choosing, I think I would have to select the 1995 film Apollo 13.
Thanks to the AMC channel, I happened to catch the Oscar-winning classic twice this past weekend, which makes a total of maybe two dozen viewings over the years, I would guess. There aren’t many films I would elect to watch more than one time, and even fewer rank “more than twice.” But there’s something about Apollo 13 that pulls me in like a “free return trajectory” back to earth.
I wish I could say it’s because the intense drama of those seven days in the spring of 1970 is forever seared into my memory; or, that of all the Apollo missions, I have a special fondness for that one because it launched on my birthday; or, that I can remember being huddled around a television at school with all my classmates, each of us wide-eyed and open-mouthed waiting for the three parachutes to appear miraculously before our eyes, right before the funny looking “spaceship” splashed into the ocean. But, only the birthday part is true.
Apollo 13 did indeed launch on my 12th birthday, but I have absolutely no recollection of it – not the launch, the explosion, the days of televised drama, the international jubilation after the astronauts’ safe return. And that really ticks me off! Why the heck not? Where was I? What possibly could have been soooo important in my 12-year-old world to NOT remember? To this day, I have no clue.
But, if Ron Howard’s Apollo 13 is on the screen, commercial-free or not, I am there. Why? Sure, there’s the great filmmaking, and the fact that I happen to like historical movies. And several of my favorite actors are in the lead roles. But why is it that the emotions — the tension, the tears, the cheers — always return, even when I know the outcome and every line of dialogue? What the heck?
Some of my favorite moments in the film occur when “Houston” realizes the carbon dioxide levels in the cabin are getting dangerously high. Because the astronauts were slowly poisoning themselves simply by exhaling, they needed to improvise an air filter of sorts (a “scrubber” in spaceman lingo) to maintain enough breathable air so they could address all their other problems with fully functioning brain cells. Too much CO2, too little brainpower. In the film, a team of NASA engineers is tasked with figuring out how to solve this problem: “We need to find a way to make this (indicating a square something) fit into this (indicating a round something) using nothing but that…” (indicating a pile of miscellaneous stuff – a piece of hose, plastic bags, tape, even a sock for crying out loud – only items available to the astronauts at that moment). And, daggonit, they do it. After the folks on the ground guide Lovell, Haise, and Swigert step-by-step through a Legos-on-steroids kind of building process, the scrubber is in place, the cabin CO2 level falls, and the design team leader is congratulated with a line that, for my money, ranks as one of the greatest in film: “And you, sir, are a steely-eyed missile man.”
And that, I think, sums up my fascination with Apollo 13. With the odds stacked overwhelmingly against them, a team of smart, driven, and dedicated individuals squarely faced their limitations and mounted an all-out attack on the impossible because, as another great line noted, “Failure was not an option.” Expectations changed drastically, from strolling along the moon’s surface and collecting lunar souvenirs, to safely returning home in time for dinner, but rockless. In the few seconds it took for a wire to short out and blow apart a gazillion-dollar flying machine, they were forced to forget the script for Plan A, disregard an irrelevant Plan B, and completely invent Plan C. And, they did.
Note to my president: Since our current economic situation somewhat resembles a badly damaged rocket ship careening uncontrollably through space, maybe you could find a few of those NASA brainiacs from the early 70s who are still around and available for service. In light of the odds stacked overwhelmingly against us today, perhaps you might want to pick their brains a bit, presuming of course they’ve all paid their taxes. I mean, talk about “recovery plans”! We sure could use a few steely-eyed missile men, and women.
We are “Go for launch.”
Hooray for Old Dogs
Posted in Commentary, Culture, Dogs, Life, Pets, tagged Best in Show, Dogs, Stump, Sussex Spaniel, Westminster, Westminster Dog Show, WKC on February 11, 2009| 1 Comment »
Stump struts his stuff
Stump the Sussex Spaniel has not only won the hallowed Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, but he also has the distinction of being (a) the oldest dog, and (b) the first of his breed, to win the coveted Silver Cup awarded to “Best In Show” at this esteemed event.
Stump impressed me not only for his good looks and perfect breed attributes, since, having had mutts all my life, I’m far from a pro at knowing what makes a Sussex Spaniel a perfect Sussex Spaniel. No, what I loved about Stump was the fact that he showed up.
Seems that Stump was down for the count just a few years ago. After overcoming a severe bacterial infection that might have laid low a lesser specimen, Stump – officially retired until entering the Westminster – returned to the ring just because his people thought he looked good, and “…wanted Stump to have a good time.”
For those of us doing the math, Stump is, in human years, anywhere from 62 to 72 years old, depending on which calculation you choose to employ. In other words, not your run-of-the-mill young starlet.
Granted, he must have some powerful genes in his corner, and probably top-notch veterinary and home care. But still, he’s an old man.
And that’s what we love about him. He’s the Phoenix risen from the ashes. Several years ago, when faced with a severe illness, lesser humans could have elected to “just put him down…” or at least keep him far away from younger, healthier competitors. But thankfully, that did not happen. There must have been something about Stump – his spirit, his willingness, his love of life – that made his humans do whatever it took to get and keep him well.
And that’s what won the Westminster.
Good for you, Stump. And good for the people who love and take care of you.
We all appreciate it, especially those of us past the common definition of “prime”, who may have been counted down-and-out once or twice. Here’s to the spirit of the Phoenix in all of us.
Read Full Post »