THE ADVANTAGES OF FLOATING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SEA
One of my crazy rituals when I'm by the Cornish coast is listening to either Bax's Tintagel, Sondheim's Pacific Overtures, or the "Training Hard" music from The Karate Kid—maybe even throwing in a little bit of the Jaws 2 original score by John Williams. Oh sure, nature's soundtrack is the best, but when you're in movie/novel mode (as I often am), I like to bring all the elements together like a creatively inspired Prospero and see what thoughts they conjure in my mind.
So far, I've been thinking about how much I would love to write the ultimate seaside cottage pulp novel—the kind you might typically find a well-thumbed copy of next to the crinkled, worn-out puzzles and board games (with missing pieces)—just like those faded paperback copies of Peter Benchley's Jaws that I never fail to notice lying around. My imagined seaside pulp fiction would combine elements of Stephen King's The Shining, Eszterhas's Basic Instinct, and Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca, with a dash of John Mortimer's Summer's Lease. I've also developed a fascination with a hotel in St Just called The Commercial, which has a kind of Barton Fink quality to it that I may need to bookmark as a reference location for any future attempt at such a project.
Anyway, back to the music. The Bax tone poem is clearly the most harmonious with the coastal environment, as it seems to perfectly encapsulate the rugged rocks and foaming waves, while black-backed gulls huddle together like they're having a casual soirée without a care in the world. Walking the cliff path along Land's End yesterday with the crashing waves and random turquoise patches amidst the vast navy blue sea, the thought occurred to me that the Enys Dodman Arches would be a mighty fine place to hang out if one were to be reincarnated as a seabird.
As for the Sondheim Pacific Overtures kink I mentioned above, having never seen a production of the musical, I often find myself staring out at the ocean with headphones on, meditating on the unique orchestration and lyrics of this lesser-known Sondheim work as a perfect way to focus on its core themes of how a complacent island culture becomes semi-conquered. Pacific Overtures deals with the influence of Western culture on Japan in the 1850s and beyond, examining the modernization of a traditional culture that forced it out of its introspective, isolated mindset as a country. "The Advantages of Floating in the Middle of the Sea" is a good example of the relatively mundane, day-to-day equilibrium of Edo under Tokugawa shogunate rule before the rude arrival of the British.
In the middle of the world we float
In the middle of the sea
The realities remain remote
In the middle of the sea
Kings are burning somewhere
Wheels are turning somewhere
Trains are being run
Wars are being won
Things are being done
Somewhere out there
Not here
Here we paint screens
I guess it was inevitable that I would find listening to Pacific Overtures an immersive experience while gazing at the Cornish coast, which itself has been a place of rich maritime history, including serving as a gateway for explorers, traders, and smugglers. Perhaps the famous outdoor Minack Theatre should stage a production of Pacific Overtures sometime—just as long as the Japanese-style beards don't blow away in the wind.
And so, finally, why do I like listening to old 80s movie scores while meditating on the Atlantic Ocean? I think it's just the inner filmmaker in me that likes to evoke a nostalgic place where the sea and my cine-memories all converge as one. Remembering the montage sequence in The Karate Kid III (1989), when Daniel and his sensei, Mr. Miyagi, train by the sea, reminds me of a certain type of adolescent heroism, where the belief in pursuing your dreams was as pure and innocent as a bonsai tree.
Sadly, there are no bonsai trees in Cornwall. 😦