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FROM ANDROMEDA AND BACK RADIO: SKIES THAT DO NOT FADE

I remember being in Chicago back in the day, listening to an FM rock station. After a bevy of alternative rock, the DJ suddenly put on the Waltz from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. At the art store where I worked, one of the young hipsters immediately yelled, "Tchaikovsky!" and began conducting with her hands. I'll never forget that moment. We had gone from, say, Throwing Muses to Tchaikovsky, and I remember thinking: How cool was that? Here was music making its own case. It didn't plead. It didn't demand. In its own way, it rocked. And then, after that glorious interlude, it was back to alternative rock. The funny thing was that the classical piece had not seemed out of place. It held its own. It brought to the table its own heft, its own weight. It wasn't preachy. It wasn't better than. It was simply another fiber in the fabric of the day. And maybe that's the way great music should be heard. Not fenced off by genre. Not placed behind glass. Not approa...
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TERRA FIRMA LINEUP: LA JETEE THE FILM THAT LEAD TO THE EDGEMONT PLACE BATTLEFIELD



La Jetée

Pilgrims. Lonely roads. Then that secret door opens to the prospect of magic, a sliver is presented. This chance may never happen again. Never. The missed moment. The second dripping away, wilting from fear of rejection. What if, however, that road is taken and the hidden path that leads to the secret places is trod?

Therein lies the great what-ifs. The Siren call was the fabulous La Jetée, much remarked upon but seldom seen except by cineasts and dreamers who view celluloid as its own stream of poetry, capable of poetry as profound as Wordsworth's The Prelude, Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn," Derek Walcott's Omeros. For 28 or so minutes, this masterpiece, told mostly through black and white stills, is a delightful quilt of mystery, romance and, in the end, terror and tragedy.

It's a small thing, loving the same film — or claiming to. But that's what started the walk to Edgemont Place.

A casual comment in a coffee shop. You know how it is. A portal opening. A move taken. He mentions La Jetée — an oddly exact reference for a stranger to reach for — and for half a second something in Beatrice hesitates before she lets it play out anyway. Can this potential bonding between Beatrice and Matthew be the elixir that fuels epic passions? Or is it the opening salvo to the sinister world that is about to play out in Terra Firma in one terrifying weekend?

More from the Terra Firma Lineup: Butting Heads | She Came as a Melody

I'd love to hear your thoughts, so speak your mind. Leave me a comment or feel free to hit me up at: fromandromedaandback@gmail.com. And thank you!

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