Magical is one way to describe it. A perfect score, a perfect screenplay, a perfect cast, when everything comes together to create something special.
Mine is Field of Dreams. The script honors the spirit of the novel, Shoeless Joe, and there are speeches in it that are pure American poetry. James Horner's score is beautiful and mystical; he uses sounds that are vaguely Native American with understated strings and soul-searching woodwinds. I like how when Ray Kinsella is witnessing the miracles on the field or hearing The Voice the audience hears a stirring of windchimes.
My father and I played catch when I was nine years old and I remember loving the sting of a fastball in my glove, the popping leather of back and forth, grass stains on my knees from snagging flyaways, and the sound of crickets while light clings to the remains of the day. Maybe, most of all, I enjoyed his encouragement, laughter, and even his ragging me when I dropped the ball.
In September of 2013 I drove to Dyersville, Iowa to the Field of Dreams movie site. My father had died two years before. This particular afternoon it had been raining but when I walked onto that field hedged by corn, no tourists present but myself, I listened to the wind move over the stalks and distant plains and fought back the tears as the sun appeared. No, no heavenly signs (but one thing happened that I still haven't been able to articulate or share). I walked from first, to second, to third, then...home.
Yeah, this movie is special.
So, what's yours?
Mine is Field of Dreams. The script honors the spirit of the novel, Shoeless Joe, and there are speeches in it that are pure American poetry. James Horner's score is beautiful and mystical; he uses sounds that are vaguely Native American with understated strings and soul-searching woodwinds. I like how when Ray Kinsella is witnessing the miracles on the field or hearing The Voice the audience hears a stirring of windchimes.
My father and I played catch when I was nine years old and I remember loving the sting of a fastball in my glove, the popping leather of back and forth, grass stains on my knees from snagging flyaways, and the sound of crickets while light clings to the remains of the day. Maybe, most of all, I enjoyed his encouragement, laughter, and even his ragging me when I dropped the ball.
In September of 2013 I drove to Dyersville, Iowa to the Field of Dreams movie site. My father had died two years before. This particular afternoon it had been raining but when I walked onto that field hedged by corn, no tourists present but myself, I listened to the wind move over the stalks and distant plains and fought back the tears as the sun appeared. No, no heavenly signs (but one thing happened that I still haven't been able to articulate or share). I walked from first, to second, to third, then...home.
Yeah, this movie is special.
So, what's yours?
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