Movies, TV shows and books come to life when we get outside the comfort of the living room and into the world.
One night I worked and sort of watched some innocuous movie until I suddenly realized, “Hey! That looks like the Biltmore mansion in South Carolina.” The story line receded into the background as I identified the huge library and the waist- high globe at Biltmore, the well-lit foyer/greenhouse and the impressive, elegant appearance both inside and out.
I knew that place. I had spent a couple of days touring it inside and out.
Last week Biltmore came to mind when I read a book about the Vanderbilts and how 100 years after Cornelius died none of his heirs were millionaires, partly because they spent all their money building bigger and bigger houses filled with expensive trinkets and books.
It happened again the other night as I watched a mystery set at Oxford University. As the cops chased a criminal through the farm market, I called my husband, “Come here. That was the enclosed market we walked through when we were at Oxford.” I could almost smell the food and spices and feel the atmosphere as I watched detectives and criminals tumbling over familiar displays.
San Francisco offers a similar experience for my husband. When he sees a show set in its steep streets, he excitedly points and says, “there is a garden up at the top. I climbed up that hill and saw it.”
Watching the series “Lost,” I caught glimpses of the deep fjords with the intensely green covering. It reminded me of the sweep of the land I saw after we disembarked at the top the mountain and looked across a huge valley as the wind whipped our hair skyward. No matter how big the screen, nothing replicates the wrap-around sound, wind and exhilaration of the real experience.
The colorful fish pictured in books have caught my eye enough that I used them in decorating, but they really caught my attention when I met them face to face the only time I went diving. Wearing a face mask, breathing through an air tube and using flippers to move forward, I did not want to leave. I shot a roll of film with the disposable, underwater camera. I stayed under water as long as I could shooting clown fish, coral and anything else that moved in that clear water. Unfortunately, my camera had a leak, so I also experienced the difficulties of underwater photography.
Having seen the real, I can also spot a fake very quickly as in the many portrayals of the Amish and similar conservative groups in movies. Sorry, the women that I know from having lived in Amish country simply do not even hint cosmetic-perfected faces as they do in the movies. The touching tendril escaping the cap in the movie does not happen in real life and the ties are snug against the chin.
Speaking of clothes, I see more details in people than I do on the screen or in a magazine picture. As we rode the Tube in London, members of the ultra-conservative, Islamic culture sat across from me, their black coverings draping down to their feet, and then I saw bling on the black coverings and long slacks clasped at the ankle with a touch of elegant trim. On the Tube, cultures merge: business men and women, city workers in brightly-colored uniforms, ethnic groups from India with the distinct tightly-wound hat on the men and a chatty group of American tourists in holiday attire.
Movies depict pursuits on subways, sometimes during peak travel times and sometimes in the still of the night. I know the feeling of the gasping rush to board during the train’s brief stop, clinging to handrails for stability as the subway train rumbles and whooshes through the underground. We stood uncomfortably packed elbow to elbow, nose to back after watching the Fourth of July fireworks in Washington D.C. one summer. A couple of weeks ago in London, my husband and I sat for 15 minutes by ourselves on a bench at an isolated station late at night waiting for the connecting train. I don’t want to do it again, but the next time I see a similar scene in a movie, I’ll catch myself saying, “I was there. I know that feeling.”