The Big Chill -- Then and Now

A few weeks ago, my husband and I watched "The Big Chill" on DVD, first time for him, the third or fourth time for me. This Lawrence Kasdan film made a deep impression on me when I first saw it in the 80s. Maybe it was the time it came into my life, the way art meshes with a certain reality and makes it personal. This time around, I saw things a little differently. The passage of time does that for you.

In case you haven't seen the movie, here's a brief synopsis. Six old college friends get together after the suicide of a friend who had existed on the margins of the Old Gang. They meet at the church for the funeral, caravan to the graveside, congregate for the wake and spend the weekend reconnecting, or not. It's a tremendous piece of ensemble acting and, according to the documentary on the 15th anniversary disc, the cast were together continually during the shoot in South Carolina. A strong rapport developed between the actors and that comes across in the film. The friends went to college in the 60s and their verbal sparring focuses on the translation from an idealized college existence to the "big chill" of the world beyond. Cynicism, "selling out," and losing touch with people you care about are themes that figure large. As I think about it now, it's a very postmodern movie.

But back when I saw it the first time I identified with something else. It was the romance of close friendships that struck me, the idea that people could be bound together long distance, over time, and that the experiences they shared could have the power to exist no matter what. These friends bicker and disagree and hurt one another, but there's still something powerful and joyous about their coming together. One scene in the film features a ersatz football game shot in the golden Tidewater twilight that seems to me almost magical. "The Big Chill" has a great soundtrack, too, and Kasdan took care in selecting classic rock music that would have been the true background music for his characters' lives.

I've had, maybe, seven truly good friends in my life, people that I have connected with in a rare and deep way. I love making friends and cultivating close relationships, but I hate saying good-bye, whatever form that good-bye takes. Sometimes the end is inexplicable, unforeseen, and crushingly painful. Sometimes it's just a matter of losing touch and not caring enough, on either side, to do the work to make it last. Sometimes, and this is a new idea for me, people come into your life for a short time for a specific reason. I've resisted acknowledging that last reality. It's a tough truth to swallow because I don't want it to be true. I think something more worthy than death and taxes should have absolute certainty. I nominate friendship.

I used to have a fantasy that one day I would buy a big old Victorian house in San Francisco (don't ask why San Francisco; when I think of Victorian houses, I see that city in my mind). The house would have many, many rooms, and I would ask every close friend I've known in my life to come and live with me. I saw it as a house full of life. What could be better than to live surrounded by people you loved and who loved you? It was a way, obviously, of "making family" when you're old enough and too far away to have your natural family around. Like my initial reaction to "The Big Chill," this fantasy was a romantic illusion. Still, it met a deep need that I had at the time.

I was talking to a fellow at work yesterday, an older Veteran who is now dealing with the decline of his elderly father. He says he will probably move back to Portland to be around friends and family. He's lived here many years, but hasn't developed much of a social life; he's single, and nights are usually spent in front of the TV. I know that when I moved here nine years ago, I reached out to make a family of my own. I started attending the Presbyterian church in town and soon found myself surrounded by a dozen older folks, my "adopted grandparents." These friendships bit through the ragged edge of my loneliness and helped me find a place to call home. We are relational beings. To be happy, we need to be in relationships with other people, whether at church, at work, or in some other context.

I heard a very interesting discussion on NPR this week. It was an interview with a woman who has written many books about women's lives. She said that men and women deal with stress in different ways, that men need time alone (in the recliner with the remote or, in the workshop with the power tools -- as my husband does to unwind), while women "tend and befriend." Many women deal with stress by coming home and taking care of children or cleaning house. They also reach out to sisters, mothers, and other women friends, people who can share the load and empathize. Turns out, men and women also learn differently. Men tend to learn by individual experience; being independent is an important part of their maturity and they learn by doing. Women, the author pointed out, mature relationally. They grow by being in relationships with other people. I think about all the things that special friends have brought to my life, the things we've shared, the way we've bonded. It's a good and noble thought to realize that my life, to some extent, has been shaped by these positive relationships. I'm a complex and compositve being, and I've been fortunate.

So, this time when I saw "The Big Chill" again, I was struck by the way that this group of friends had moved on since their college days. The "ideal" of their shared past was there (and maybe that's what provided the warm glow in the film, the burnished sense of nostalgia), but the reality was quite different. Each character was set in his or her own trajectory, carrying burdens and baggage, dealing with the complexity of life in an insular, isolated fashion. They were selfish and self-absorbed, bitter and cruel. The heart of the film, perhaps, is this very notion: we always want to be what we were and there's no way back. I don't like the movie any less, but I realized that pretending things don't change when it comes to friendships doesn't make it so. Friendship requires constant vigilance and most of us don't get it right.

I take the dissolution of special friendships hard, but I think my marriage has helped in that regard. Here is a relationship built to last as long as we're both willing to work things out as we go along. Here is a chance to get it right, day by day. There's hope in that, the real stuff you don't find in movies.