STATION ELEVEN Hits Home

 

I will sorely miss seeing STATION ELEVEN for the first time.  

After watching 9 of the 10 episodes alone I hooked my son into watching it with me and re-watched all of them with the same degree of joy and wonder as the first time.  The finale came and went last week but I refused to watch it or visit the Facebook fan page in order to experience it in its fullness with him.  I was surprised more than once when he picked up on some early clues and made connections that had taken significantly longer to register for me.  And this series is thoroughly interconnected like a beautiful tapestry weaving together the lives of its characters over the expanse of 10 episodes created with a mosaic of flashbacks and cathartic moments.

I was astounded to find there were some specific touching points in what was unfolding in regards to things that have happened in my own life.  The best example of this is when Clark is talking with Arthur about Arthur’s attempt to regain relevance and/or legitimacy as an actor by taking on the role of King Lear in a Shakespeare production.  Arthur is a movie star whose fame stems from superficial action films and it is his face on the poster that is a draw for people to watch Shakespeare who might not otherwise do so.  It seems to be a win-win for Arthur and the theater he is performing for but then he dies on stage on opening night and the story is set in motion.

The relevance to me has to do with the time I saw the movie version of Hamlet in early 1991 starring Mel Gibson.  It was ostensibly the same scenario as Arthur’s attempt at Shakespeare, ie, a famous Hollywood actor attempting some “serious” acting.  I was in the midst of Basic Training at an infantry training center in Georgia after impulsively dropping out of college at the start of the first Gulf War.  Over a period of several months I sustained daily attacks on my humanity meant to mold me into a compliant soldier.  There did not appear to be any respite from this dehumanizing process due to our near total isolation from the wider world or access to personal items that might remind us of who we once were.  I always describe that time as the days feeling like weeks, the weeks like months, and the months like years.

At one of my lowest points we marched past the Post movie theater and I saw Mel Gibson’s “Hamlet” was being shown.  It struck me that I needed to see this movie, like needing a sip of water while lost in the desert.  I found a way to sneak out from the barracks and slip into that theater where there were only one or two other people present.  As I watched Hamlet unfold in front of my eyes the miserable existence of Basic Training dissolved from my consciousness like waking up from a bad dream.  I was transfixed by what was happening on that screen.  Every emotion was felt at peak intensity to the point at times of tears streaming down my cheeks.  I was so caught up in the moment I lost track of time.  

When I did glance down at my watch I was stunned to see that it was 5 minutes until lights out and head count.  I leapt from my seat, sped walked up the aisle, and then broke into a dead run through the parking lot, through the darkness of two grassy fields, and onto the concrete pad at the back of my barracks complex where I transitioned again to speed walking to not look too suspicious if spied by a Drill Sergeant.  I took the stairs two at a time to the second floor and lit in my barracks bay like a bird returning to its cage.  I immediately laid down in bed and pulled the covers over my BDU’s and boots trying to pant as quietly as possible.  The Drill Sergeant came through the door right on cue.

I can’t help but make the connection that in Station Eleven this was the experience of the isolated survivors in the airport when the Traveling Symphony arrived and put on their production of Hamlet.  When I told my son the story of younger me sneaking out and almost not making it back for headcount he said I was “savage” but for me at the time it was about survival or, better yet, reaching past just surviving.  “Survival is insufficient” is the motto of the Traveling Symphony in Station Eleven.  I don’t think I truly understood the power of art to humanize us and reveal our interconnectedness prior to that experience as a young man.

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