I've been saying for years that I never cry during sad moments in the movies, only during moments about goodness. At the end of "Terms of Endearment," I didn't cry because of Debra Winger's death, but because of how she said goodbye to her sons. Now I've have discovered a scientific explanation for why I feel the way that I do, and there is even a name for my specific emotion.
I wasn't seeking an explanation, and I'm not sure I really wanted one. And, for that matter, I don't really cry, at least not in the wiping-my-eyes and blowing-my-nose fashion. What I experience is the welling up of a few tears in my eyes, a certain tightness in my throat, and a feeling of uplift: Yes, there is a good person, doing a good thing. And when the movie is over, I don't want to talk with anyone. After such movies I notice that many audience members remain in a kind of reverie. Those who break the spell by feeling compelled to say something don't have an emotional clue.
It doesn't require a tearjerker to create this aura. "Fargo" is far from a tearjerker, but at the end, when Marge Gunderson snuggles up to her husband Norm and tells him how proud she is about his design for the wildlife stamp, it made me feel so warm. And it was at the very end of "Do the Right Thing," when the quotations from Martin Luther King and Malcolm X appeared on the screen, that I felt: Yes, that is the choice. And I hope we make the right one.
This feeling doesn't come only from movies. John Prine's "Hello in There" evokes it--not because of the story of the old man and his wife, Loretta, but because of Prine's writing of it and so many other songs showing the instinctive empathy of a great poet. Another experience evoking it was watching Michael Jordan's performance in a game in the 1997 NBA finals. He had food poisoning. He had lost six pounds in two days. The doctors told him to stay in bed. He dragged himself onto the court. He was dripping with sweat. On the bench, he draped a towel over his head. He scored the game-high 38 points, and sank the winning three-pointer. I wasn't moved by the victory. That's only basketball. I was moved by his bravery.
Norm: People don't much use the three-cent.
Marge : Oh, for Pete's sake. Of course they do. Whenever they raise the postage, people need the little stamps.
I am moved by generosity, empathy, courage, and by the human capacity to hope. During Barack Obama's victory speech on Nov. 4, I felt a powerful, long-sustaining feeling of uplift. No, it was not because of the speech, however powerful. It was because of those hundreds of thousands together in Grant Park, a sea of humanity, all races, all religions, all ethnicities, all together, affirming American hope. It was not so much that they had elected a black man as our president, although that was a part. It was because they had risen up and affirmed the America I grew up believing in.
In the movies, I feel this emotion not only during movies about great men, like "Gandhi," but during little family comedies such as "Nothing Like the Holidays," when a Puerto Rican mother tells her Jewish daughter-in-law, "You know, there are a lot of good Jews in Puerto Rico." She sees beyond the labels to the woman. She has risen above categories. In Bergman's "Cries and Whispers," Agnes dies a painful death from cancer, and that is sad. But I was moved by two moments. The scene where her nurse Anna comforts her against her bare breast. And the reading from her diary after Agnes has died, where she recalls a tranquil autumn day they all spent together in the garden: "This is happiness. I cannot wish for anything better. I feel profoundly grateful to my life, which gives me so much." That is so more deeply moving than Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.
At the end of "Million Dollar Baby," the old trainer Frankie performs a service that the young boxer, Maggie, has asked of him. This scene caused controversy among those who disagreed with his action. The scene was not advocating his action. Indeed, Frankie believes he may go to hell as his punishment. The scene was about his love and empathy, his loyalty to a woman he respected. In "Leaving Las Vegas," I could identify with the suffering of the Nicolas Cage character, but it was a specific decision by the Elisabeth Shue character that touched me. In "Maborosi," I was affected by the woman's acceptance of her new and different life and husband.
Anna comforts Agnes in "Cries and Whispers"
You see how it is. One day in December I came upon an article at Slate.com by Emily Yoffe, headlined "Obama in Your Heart." it Involved a study about "the emotions of uplift." It was conducted by Dacher Keltner, professor of psychology at Berkeley, who had studied physical responses in test subjects who are deeply moved--most recently, during that night at Grant Park. A specific human emotion is involved. It is called Elevation. Yoffe wrote:
Elevation has always existed but has just moved out of the realm of philosophy and religion and been recognized as a distinct emotional state and a subject for psychological study. Psychology has long focused on what goes wrong, but in the past decade there has been an explosion of interest in "positive psychology"--what makes us feel good and why. University of Virginia moral psychologist Jonathan Haidt, who coined the term elevation, writes, "Powerful moments of elevation sometimes seem to push a mental 'reset button,' wiping out feelings of cynicism and replacing them with feelings of hope, love, and optimism, and a sense of moral inspiration."
Studies have indicated that Elevation is triggered by the stimulus of our vagus nerve, described by Wikipedia as the only nerve that starts in the brainstem and extends down below the head, to the neck, chest and abdomen, where it contributes to the innervation of the viscera. It must be involved in what we call "visceral feelings," defined as "relating to deep inward feelings rather than to the intellect."
The vagus nerve would certainly account for what I feel, which is as much physical than mental. For years, when asked "how do you know a movie is great?" I've had the same reply: I feel a tingling in my spine. People look at me blankly. I explain that I feel an actual physical sensation that does not depend on the abstract quality of the movie, but on--well, my visceral feelings.
Yoffe writes: "In his forthcoming book Born To Be Good, Keltner writes that he believes when we experience transcendence, it stimulates our vagus nerve, causing 'a feeling of spreading, liquid warmth in the chest and a lump in the throat'." Yes, that's what I feel. Does it sound familiar to you? Jonathan Haidt devised a fascinating study at the University of Virginia, described by Yoffe:
Since it's tricky to study the vagus nerve, [Haidt] and a psychology student conceived of a way to look at it indirectly. The vagus nerve works with oxytocin, the hormone of connection. Since oxytocin is released during breast-feeding, he and the student brought in 42 lactating women and had them watch either an inspiring clip from The Oprah Winfrey Show about a gang member saved from a life of violence by a teacher or an amusing bit from a Jerry Seinfeld routine.About half the Oprah-watching mothers either leaked milk into nursing pads or nursed their babies following the viewing; none of the Seinfeld watchers felt enough breast dilation to wet a pad, and fewer than 15 percent of them nursed. You could say elevation is Oprah's opiate of the masses, so it's fitting that she early on gave Obama her imprimatur. And that for his victory speech [she was] was up front in Grant Park, elevation's moist embodiment, feeling so at one with humankind that she used a stranger as a handkerchief.
Elisabeth Shue and Nicolas Cage in "Leaving Las Vegas"
Keltner says we most powerfully experience this feeling in groups--no wonder people spontaneously ran into the street on election night, hugging strangers. "We had to evolve these emotions to devote ourselves into social collectives," he says.
That's an important observation. It helps explain why we feel sharper emotions in a movie theater than while watching a DVD at home. At a deep level, we are part of a group having a shared experience. Even in a pure action film with no Elevation at all, the feedback is important. And during a film where you hold your breath, the more breaths being held, the more powerful it seems.
If I were a film producer hoping to make a movie with deep appeal, I would consciously look for Elevation--remembering that it seems to come not through messages or happy endings or sad ones, but in moments when characters we believe in--even an animated robot garbageman--achieve something good. I have observed before that we live in a box of space and time, and movies can open a window in the box. One human life, closely observed, is everyone's life. In the particular is the universal. Empathy is the feeling that most makes us human. Elevation may be the emotion caused when we see people giving themselves up, if only for a moment, to caring about others.
¶
Emily Joffe's article in Slate.com is here.
¶
Debra Winger's farewell scene in "Terms of Endearment:"
¶
Michael Jordan transcends himself:
¶
Roger, you've described how I felt at the conclusion of "United 93." Profound sadness, yes, at the deaths of all those innocent people; a tide of communal loss felt throughout the theater. Yet also an appreciation and an "elevation" over the passengers' act of selfless bravery.
My friends and I also joke about having a good "man-cry" when we watch highlights of great sports moments, which invariably are set to a dramatic musical score (NFL Films are genius with this) and often involve, as in your Jordan example, circumstances that transcend mere athleticism.
i always get misty whenever i watch that particular scene in "The Goonies" where Sean Aston's character is alone inside the ship, facing a pirate skeleton and giving a monologue about being one of the Goonies... oh man. it's a children's movie, but it always chokes me up every damn time.
i like movies that provoke strong emotions in me, that doesn't just entertain, but make me feel something...
I cried at both Slumdog Millionaire and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Both films were the only new 2008 releases that moved me to tears.
in to kill a mockingbird, when scout realizes that the man who saved her brother was boo radley, the same man whom they'd mercilessly mocked and ridiculed, she silently walks over and holds his hand. three things are then certain: 1. how sorry she is, B. that he'll finally get some respect, and 3. i'll be a teary mess.
This post begs the question, what was the last "Elevation" you experienced while watching a movie?
For me, it's the final seconds of "The Wrestler".
Ebert: Viola Davis's scene in "Doubt."
The Mission - as powerful as the depressing parts are such as the ending, the sequence that brings forth the waterworks is DeNiro's completion of his penance. The joy both on his and Jeremy Irons face as he makes it up the waterfall and they embrace kills me every time. One of DeNiro's most underrated performances, this.
Aside from that, a spot-on article. It is one of the truly great things about being a human with the power of cognitive thought that we can have moments that touch and uplift us, no matter where that moment comes from. And it's truly humbling to be in the presence of that moment, whether it's from Curt Schilling throwing seven masterful innings on a ravaged ankle or Ben Stiller finally forgiving Gene Hackman in "The Royal Tenenbaums", because it feels both deeply universal and intensely personal at the same time.
Ah, in the theater can be more intense than movie night in someone's apartment, yes, but when watching at home, alone, in the dark we can really let the emotions loose. The first movie I ever remember crying at - I mean really bawling was a showy documentary called "The NBA at 50." I mean, I was melting. It's a sport I adore to be sure, but near the end of the film, they show some of the all-time greats retiring, taking the court for the last time. They interview them and they discuss how hard it was too keep going after their bodies had broken down from so much play. But they were tall and they loved to play so they kept on going. That was in my college house, up in the attic by myself one night.
Ebert: What blew me away was the scene revealing the mother had been taking nurse's aide classes.
Plenty of movies move me to emotion, but the one that gets me the quickest every time - that "elevates" me, is Hoop Dreams. Something about these real people who are struggling, but keep on trying. As you said, Roger, these are good people doing good things. I only have to rewatch the trailer to get that tingle. God help me if I ever watch it again my myself in the dark.
(and keeping with the basketball theme - a minor correction - it was the 1997 Finals)
The perfect example to me is the Marseillaise scene in Casablanca.
I think that once I asked if you could write an editorial about the moments in movies that move you to tears, not because they are sad, but because they are beautiful. I don't know if you ever saw that comment, but I am so glad you wrote the article. Our choices, as well as our reasons for choosing our moments of (for lack of a better word to describe my own experience of cinema) epiphany may be very different, but I loved this article, and honestly think that there would be more peace, justice, and happiness in the world if everyone took some time to get in contact with their vagus nerve ;).
My own most recent moment of "elevation" for me: The scene in "The Rape of Europa" detailing the efforts of the staff of the Louvre sending their collection to the remotest ends of Europe during World War II.
I've never been a crier, in everyday life or at the movies. When I was a kid and my friends were sobbing in their popcorn at the end of "The Champ" or "Ice Castles" I'd be wondering why all the fuss? Over the last few years, I now find myself tearing up quite frequently (hormones? growing realization of my mortality? I have no idea.) I can relate to what you're saying about the reasons we cry during films. I quietly wept several times during "In America", because it felt honest, the film earned my tears. I didn't feel manipulated ("ok, here's where you're supposed to cry"), I felt connected to the characters and their story.
Mr. Ebert,
How does it feel to no longer be writing about movies, but just to be writing?
-jp
Not only is man a social animal, he is a creature of sehnsucht, a nameless longing that urges as you mentioned a person like Herzog to film unto the last. It is the drop seeking the ocean, the dust particle the earth. As Donne said, no man is an island, each is a part of the main ,the continent.
Is it the sentimental, the aesthetic, the spiritual,the good which triggers that nerve (highly dissapointing if its just a nerve)?
The latest it got for me was the final number in Slumdog.....the soul of Bollywood clicked for me ,I heard my roots....
What we seek is ourself,and movies and people and science and art are mirrors wherin we seek to explore and discover our own souls . I recall having experienced exultation understanding or solving a beautiful mathematical problem .
There is the beautiful parable of Indra's net in Mahayana Buddhism which resonates with the Donne sentence: humankind is pictured as an infinite net like a fishing net at each intersection is a mirror and each mirror reflects all others...
I had the sensation of elevation just last week while reading Scott McCloud's Zot! In terms of film, the only elevating material which comes to my mind at present is Ikiru.
1987 was not the year that Jordan had the flu. It was 1997. 1987 was the year "Bird stole the ball" on an inbound pass from the Pistons with Detroit up by one point. This sent the series back to Boston and the haunted arena. My Pistons lost that year in the conference finals. I cried every game that year, and every homer that Darrell Evans hit in 1985 for the Tigers (on the way to a home run title and oldest winner at that). I also cry at the Brady Bunch whenever anyone showed true appreciation for Alice.
Movie this past year that tore me up. Wall-E. The plant being given as a gift from the heart-I choked. A sign of life in a theatre that seemed out of it emotionally. A collective awwwww went up and I was over the edge.
When I first read this and saw "Leaving Las vagus" I thought, wow, what a typo. Then I read on and found out it was a pun. Entertaining and instructive as always, Mr. Ebert.
My Elevation moment: the last scene in City Lights. His face. God, I'm getting caught up just thinking about it... Talk amongst yourselves...
Ebert: Not a pun. Just spell-checking run wild.
A recent moviegoing moment that elicited an "uplifted" emotion from me: the scene in TDK in which Alfred makes a decision about the letter from Rachel. I was moved by Alfred's compassion for Bruce Wayne, and I don't recall feeling as compassionate about a "comic-book" movie since Spiderman 2.
P.S. In paragraph 7 you wrote "Leaving Las vagus" - is this a typo or a play on words?
Ebert: The city got spell-checked into the nerve.
I have to say, this is one of your more interesting blog entries. Not more than 30 minutes ago I got home from seeing "Gran Torino," only to come home to see this blog entry describing exactly what I had just seen. While watching that film, I feared a horrific ending was all that could end the film. Instead, I got just exactly what you have described: a feeling of uplift, or "elevation," that "there is a good person, doing a good thing." At the end of the film, I could only sit in my seat and watch. It was a little depressing when the bulk of the theater jumped up and loudly went about getting home 2 minutes earlier than if they had sat and soaked it in. (On an off note, I sat next to a couple who brought their 1-year old child with them...which was interesting.)
I also just watched "Million Dollar Baby" a couple nights ago, and had a very similar feeling at the end. It seems Eastwood has a handle on evoking this emotion, though I'm sure many people in the business do as well. No doubt, there are many other films one could list as great examples. It's interesting to hear a name with the emotion, as well as some physical explanation of it. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for the sensation in movies to come, though I know for a fact I've felt it before and will again.
I've often felt this at the end of movies, but I don't always trust it to signal the quality of the movie. When I've felt like it was a great movie, the feeling is cathartic and fitting. But sometimes, the music picks up near the end of a mediocre film, the scenes are cut just so, and I feel a simulation of that same feeling --- or maybe it's the same feeling --- cheapened by feeling manipulated.
Your article put this feeling in a very noble light. Thank you for that. I had become very cynical about it, assuming it was part of some screenwriting class rather than something essential about storytelling.
I felt it in the movie "Crash" in the scene with the little girl.
I feel elevated {as I'm sure it happens with many others on the blog, judging by the carefully considered comments} every time I read your blog, Mr. Ebert {and even though you strike me as someone who would prefer the informal Roger, I've settled on the formal out of respect}.
Somehow you have a way of taking feelings and experiences that we know and put them into words. In your last column, I felt as if you were taking me on a personal tour of Venice - through the back alleys, along the canals, sitting at a cafe people watching.
The most poignant part of the Jordan video was at the end when he falls into Scottie Pippen. As someone who grew up idolizing him, watching Michael Jordan's playground awestruck by his ridiculous athleticism {and pulling on my ears so they would stick out like his}, it is almost frightening to see how human and helpless he looks in that moment. And then he is back to the Jordan we all remember in the interview. Confident and capable of anything.
Thank you.
Yes, I rarely find myself emotionally influenced during explicitly sad moments in movies (or fiction, or poetry). I am, however, moved when I encounter moments of elite human creativity. I think the best scene I've ever seen in a movie is the final scene in "Aguirre: The Wrath of God". It was menacing, heartbreaking, and surreal. Also the poems: "The Plot Against the Giant" by Wallace Stevens, and "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams made me feel tangibly euphoric. Definitely worth a Google.
Ebert: Wikipedia says the poem "relates to Williams' basic doctrine that by examining an object in all of its immediacy, we can come into contact with something universal." One life is all lives.
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
Like you, I too cry at movies where the characters do something good. The 5 times that I've cried at the movies:
1) Schindler's List.
2) Saving Private Ryan.
3) In America.
4) The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.
5) Million Dollar Baby.
I've gotten choked up dozens of times, but those 5 were the times that I had tears rolling down my cheeks.
I don't know why, but I felt that at the end of The Simpsons Movie. It just made me really... happy.
The people in Grant Park were much more inspiring than the speech - even more so on the walk home.
As you walked down Michigan Avenue, people were dancing, screaming, jumping up and down. All kinds of people. Every age, race, nationality, and class. I saw black kids high-fiving white cops. Old women weeping with joy. People kissing in the middle of the crowd like it was VJ Day - which is close. It was V.A. day - Victory in America.
This was the day that we could sing along with the guy blowing "God Bless America" into his sax on the corner, and chant "U.S.A." as we walked down the road. The crowd was thick all the way up to the Magnificent Mile, still dancing and hollering and hugging.
Now, I don't think the world has changed overnight, but its moments like this that you know that all of those "we are one America" speeches are true - or that, at least, we CAN make them true. Yes we can, all right.
That's what I wrote that night. Of course, now I'm too busy worrying about whether I'll still be working in six months to still feel like that - but it's nice to know it CAN happen, because it can certainly happen again.
Ebert: Such a perfect balmy night. Now this bitter cold.
Viola Davis's big little scene in "Doubt" was quite sublime. It is going to be very difficult for the Academy to choose between her and Kate Winslet. I consider these the two finest performances of the year (that I have seen thus far), because I found myself exploring these characters' lives as I was watching them and listening to them; the way they expressed themselves with their faces and voices unlocked a door into their lives; the actors didn't simply read the words from the page, they gave these words the meaning and impetus that real people's words carry with them. There is a life behind our words! And yet it is so different a life from the one we hope our words project to others. I could see these characters so clearly, and yet sense so strongly what it was that I could not see, what is perhaps kept hidden, that I better understood the thin, yet vast, slice of humanity that each character represented. That's what I call ACTING!
Ebert: My guess: Voters will chose Winslet for "Revolutionary Road" and Davis for "Doubt." Winslet may end up having the most total votes, but they'll be split. She is very, very good in Rev Road.
last night I cried in front of my Dad for the second time in my life. I was having a panic attack and he was calming me down in his own quiet way. I told him I was afraid of death ; my brother died november 08 at age 46.
Later I thought the only time I ever cried in front of him was at the end of 'The Color Purple' . We went to walk out of the theater and I said I need to read the credits...So we 'waited'..
Ebert: I've been known to gesture intently at the credits, too.
My favorite blog article yet! Moments of goodness impact me the most in film, too. Remember the end of The Color Purple when Celie is reunited with her sister in the field? Most folks lose it during that scene, but not me, that is until Danny Glover crosses through the background with the mule. Glover's long overdue act of kindness really gets me. Also, for me, no music = way less emotion. I learned this from watching movies with the sound down while rocking my son to sleep.
In a strange way, I'm feeling that sense of Elevation now, reading the comments above and knowing that this is an emotion that is absolutely universally understood. It's difficult to explain--even this scientific study sounds like it's only touching the tip of the iceberg--but we can all remember moments when we've been powerfully affected and moved by something inherently good. "Empathy is the feeling that most makes us human." Beautiful.
The last film I remember feeling this was Man On Wire, when Petit has finally accomplished the ridiculous feat he has been laboring towards for the entire film. (I too experienced it in the same scene with Viola Davis in Doubt).
Ebert: I wonder if there is a correlation between Elevation and Academy Awards. Million Dollar Baby, Crash, A Beautiful Mind, Titanic, Forrest Gump, Schindler's List...
I wonder how you'd do if you tried predicting this year's winners based on your own subjective Elevation feelings. You would have had a hard time choosing between "Crash" and "Brokeback Mountain."
I experience the same emotional response during the last minutes of "Magnolia:"
"And as we move through this life we should try and do good. Do good... And if we can do that, and not hurt anyone else, well... then... "
Great post! I agree. I've never been an emotional filmgoer, but there are absolutely moments that cause me to well up. They're probably why I love the movies so much to begin with. One of these moments occurs in a movie I was sure you were going to mention: the Lives of Others. I've seen that film ten times if I've seen it once, and I turn into a blubbering sentimentalist every time I see the end. That movie exemplifies the power of "goodness" without a single cliche or oversimplified moral lesson. The ending of Schindler's List is a similar example. Schindler's plea that he "should have done more" tore me to pieces.
I'll admit that I kept my emotions at the end of Fargo to myself until now. I don't think a "dark crime comedy" is presumed to affect people in the way that Fargo does. I think the beauty of the film (and particularly the ending) is in the way the Coens juxtapose a number of lives literally and figuratively falling apart with the sweet and simple story of Margie's home life and work. We see unimaginable catastrophes lay out in explicit and intense detail, but it's just a part of what Marge does to put bread on the table. She doesn't care about these horrible people and their stupid crimes. She just cares about her husband. There's really something there. Also, I'm sure you'll agree with me that Gates of Heaven contains a number of the touching moments you write about.
I think it's great that you're pointing out the emotional effect of "goodness" in cinema, and I agree with you. But I'm a bit of a pragmatist, and I tend to be a harsh judge of a film's technical skill. Therefore, beautiful shots or sequences often hit me harder than the characters can. Every time I watch 2001: A Space Odyssey (which is no small number), I feel like my knees are going to buckle under the overwhelming weight of the images. There's that moment in Lawrence of Arabia when Lawrence dances flamboyantly atop a moving train. The shot in the Third Man when Orson Welles' fingers poke through the sewer grate.That remarkable opening sequence in 8 1/2. I could go on and on. Realistically, I already have. But you get my point. When the sights, sounds, thoughts, and feelings of a film are all perfectly in place and in sync with one another, something inexplicable happens.
Ebert: The man in "Gates of Heaven" who says, "She's got me believin' it too."
I always get a boost watching Kenneth Branagh as Henry V affirming brotherhood with the men who will be fighting with him against overwhelming odds. " . . . be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition . . ."
I believe I felt that way through most of Rachel Getting Married. And it was just me and one other lady two rows away in the entire theatre.
Uplift. I never knew that I wanted to know the term for, honestly, an indescribable emotion, and now that I know it, it is somewhat inadequate.
There have been few times where I've actually cried at the end of a movie. My Dog Skip - but I was eleven, and what monsterous little boy doesn't feel some emotion when Shiloh, Old Yeller, or Skip's time has come and gone? Most recent was Wall-E, and I'm at a loss for why.
Uplift - Doubt. Viola Davis' scene and the last minute or so between Adams and Streep. Both are astonishingly well done. Uplift happens quite frequently for me though, and, like I said, I can't explain why. Revolutionary Road, The Wrestler, and Slumdog Millionare also caused it for whatever reason, as does plenty of music.
I wonder if art in general can stir uplift, or moments like what Joffe describes.
I think the reason goodness affects us all is the fact that we are all very much capable of cruelty, and yet still some people do the right thing. I don't believe it can be done in a very calculating manner though. Strangely we all catch it when it is faked in movies. I don't think there is a formula for the filmmakers. Gran Torino inspires feelings of elevation in me, but not the elevation-targeting Erin Bronkovich or Take the Lead.
As for the collective experience at the movie theater, it is reminiscent of our ancestors telling stories around the fire, inventing language and translating emotion into words. It is an old habit, and it is special.
I find myself having that exact reaction often while listening to Beethoven and other music, less often in films.
I'm afraid your mandate to producers might be the worst advice possible - bad enough to already have months of engineered uplift at the end of every year. You can't buy this effect with money. You need spirit.
I remember watching Serenity, the movie developed from the short-lived tv series, Firefly. I had never seen the tv show. But Whedon did such a fantastic job with the characters that I was deeply moved by them. And it wasn't the moments of sadness they were involved in. It was the last scene with Mal and River flying the ship and Mal telling her what the most important thing is when it comes to flying. It gives me that feeling every time. The same with Gordon's speech at the end of The Dark Knight.
When it comes to politics, The West Wing has given me this feeling on numerous occasions. To hear someone articulate what politics can be and ought to be with such eloquence and intelligence is really something to behold, whether you agree with their ideology or not.
I just recently finished Kazuo Ishiguro's "Never Let Me Go" the other day. It's not the death that comes into play at the end of the novel that gets me, but the nostalgia, the remembrance of enjoyed, youth-filled moments. Man, it gets me everytime.
I get the same feeling when I watch Picnic at Hanging Rock. By the end of the film it's not so much the horrors of the ambiguous disappearance of the girls, but the very thought of the great pleasure they were partaking in; such a small, seemingly minuscule life-moment: a picnic. And how they will never partake is something so euphoric ever again.
The previously mentioned Marseillaise (sp?) scene in Casablanca is certainly one. Another, for me, is, not the ending, but the scenes with his family just prior to George Bailey's leaving to commit suicide. And it's hard to explain why it gets me, except maybe it's because in his 'losing it', we see how good 'it' actually was, and how loved he is, and good, that his acting that way shocks and hurts his wife and children so. You see it in their eyes, and then you see it in his eyes, his love for them.
Ikiru, as mentioned. Much of Magnolia, but specifically the scenes featuring the cop and the girl (especially the ending, especially when you know what he's saying to her), and Philip Seymour Hoffman's character. You and Me and Everyone We Know has scenes like this, too, the ending, the scene on the park bench with the kid and the art gallery director, and on and on. The scene between the little girl (who's just been injured trying to help him, and keeps tearfully asking why he's making everybody die) and Lee Pace in The Fall. The German soldier watching Adrien Brody play piano in The Pianist, then taking care of him.
Really these scenes are in large part why I watch movies. They make me feel good about people. And I want to feel good about people, and often it's very hard to do, try though I might. So I thank these films and filmmakers for facilitating such a vital process.
Thank you for your post, which, I must say, is quite informative. I tend to be one who will grab his chest during a movie, one who will feel something inside, something that, for some reason, extends past the empty cavern of my unconscious mind and ascends outward. I don't know. My whole face begins to tingle, and my eyebrows curve upward, and my whole body begins to feel a way that is very hard to come by. Frankly, I had no idea what that came from, and so I'm glad to have learned that.
What is slightly confusing, though, is what happens in scenes where there is really nothing but pure movie-making, characters together, I guess, with beautiful imagery, and a breathtaking score. I am referring to the very last scene in Innaritu's Babel, a scene that I can not make it through without those feelings to save my life. It is so pure, so full of emotions, left and right, and whether there was a wholly good person doing something on screen or not, it doesn't matter, because what Innaritu did was something magical, something majestic, something that absolutely captivated every fiber in my body to respond to the sheer intoxication of the scene as a whole. I do not think that the same would have happened if something had changed, such as, for instance, if there had been a different score. I, therefore, am not entirely sure what I speak of is the same thing; sure, it takes my breath away unlike almost anything I've ever seen, but is it elevation? I don't think so. The goodness that's shown would be the embrace between the father and daughter, but the whole scene is gripping, not simply what they do with each other. Perhaps there is another, yet to be discovered, underlying layer that calls out our emotions from beneath.
Either way, whether it is or isn't elevation, I am at least glad to have learned about it. Perhaps that's something that always grips my mom when she watches films, but, maybe not.
Savvy
Ebert: I suspect it doesn't have to involve plot or even specific character behavior if it involves emotions. Consider music.
Here's one from a documentary...remember James Doohan in "Trekkies" telling about the young woman he met at a convention? As he ends the story look at the smile on his face. The satisfaction he felt over his simple encouragement helping her to turn her life around is priceless!
I think I've never feel as much elevation as when I watch Casablanca. And every time I cry like a baby.
But I always cry at the end of Being John Malkovich too, so I guess I feel the sadness too.
I cry too much.
The scene in dead man walking when the Father sees his dead child and starts reciting "Forgive us our debts..."
When the priest in Les Miserables says "Why didn't you take the candlesticks."
When you realize that Babette has used all her lottery money.
The last scene of Pan's Labyrinth.
I cried so hard at the end of Dead Man Walking that the person in front of me thought that I was laughing and cussed me out.
-J
I felt a powerful and overriding sense of foreboding as I watched the last scenes of ‘Easy Rider’, as Wyatt and Billy were shot. The movie until then was pleasant if not a timid cinematic combination of breathtaking vistas and pointless wandering (oh well yes, that was indeed the point of it.)
But in that one last scene of unnecessary violence, I got a few bleak insights into human nature. Oh didn’t I see it coming? Of course I did. But the scene was so cavalier, it magnified the horror. And I got to thinking so much about our history.
And I can’t even describe the emotion I felt as Hall the computer pleaded to the astronaut not to turn him off in ‘2001: A Space Odyssey.’ His voice was haunting. Ridiculously enough, it made me feel both elated and depressed for humanity. Such strange things we can create!
Oh by the way, regarding your review of ‘Chandini Chowk to China’, you indeed know nothing about Bollywood. The movie does not deserve to be reviewed. As an Indian, I am ashamed of Bollywood. (That is not to say that no good hindi movies are made, but no good hindi movies are made in ‘Bollywood.’)
Ebert: No expert indeed, but I have enjoyed some Bollywood movies. Not so much this one.
Roger,
What do you think is the relationship between elevation and catharsis? Are they synonmyous or differentiated somehow?
What they both touch upon, I think, is the magic of movies. The ancient thrill of stories.
You sit in a darkened theater with your tribe. You watch and listen to the hero on his quest. The hero gets the prize. The hero returns to the tribe and gives to us the elixir.
The specific moment of that transfer, if executed successfully by the filmmakers, gives us the gift of release, or elevation, or catharsis.
And what a gift that is.
Ebert: I think they release opposite energies. But what do I know?
All of my favorite movies and books involve this phenomenon. I have always referred to it as "soaring". I thought of it that way because of the literal sense of flying, or "rising above" that I would get in the seat of my pants whenever a character would perform some kind of selfless act. The most recent work that has done this for me was the book "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. While abstract, the final paragraph in the book evokes such sense of... something, I don't even know what it is, but it's powerful to me. I am hoping against hope that the forthcoming movie will somehow do the book justice.
Mr. Ebert-
This article struck a note. The end particularly hit. I couldn't help be reminded of Synecdoche, NY when reading your final paragraph. That flick's message is really it, idn't it? We see through each others eyes whether we like it or not. Stories of any kind fasten us to potential epiphanies that might otherwise elude us. If a film can provoke you to relinquish your body, for even a moment, it may be as special as anything we get.
Thanks for reminding me you are me too.
Illini Alum '04
Enan Joe Heneghan
Ebert: The greatness of that film will eventually he affirmed.
I know most people don't consider it a great movie, and it's certainly not his best, but Wes Anderson's "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" contains his best scene. It's also the only scene of any movie that is guaranteed to get my eyes misting.
He is gathered in his animated submersible with his closest friends, and we see the hauntingly beautiful stop-animated shark swim past them.
"I wonder if he remembers me."
That's what gets my eyes going.
It's a very imperfect film, but that scene is something else.
Ebert: I wrote a sheepish on-the-one-hand, on-the-other review about it. It was certainly beautiful to look at.
Great post. Strangely, the last time I felt this from a movie was during _The Curious Case of Benjamin Button_ a movie so many people thought was removed and cold, during the sort of montage when Button gets younger, and works various little odd jobs, as if that old adage about youth being wasted on the young isn't quite right afterall. Just stirring in its humility and understated awareness.
Ebert: But of course: Is he really young then?
Tony I wrote:
"The shot in the Third Man when Orson Welles' fingers poke through the sewer grate."
I hate to be that guy, but it was actually Carol Reed's fingers that poked through the sewer gate. Though, to be sure, they were really Harry Lime's.
Ebert: I didn't know that.
Perhaps the top sports "uplift" moment in my book (though the Jordan example is certainly a good one) is Kerri Strug's gold medal vault from the 1996 Olympics. I'm a way bigger football and basketball fan than a gymnastics fan, but I weep every time I see it. Emotionally and physically damaged after the first vault, she hits the second under tremendous pressure and on one leg, raising her hands before dropping to the ground in pain. And the gold medal is hers! Incredible! It's straight out of The Karate Kid. As all others have said, I love movies that recreate that magic feeling, sports-related or otherwise.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fFn47a_Ny0Y
Reply to: Ebert: I wonder if there is a correlation between Elevation and Academy Awards. Million Dollar Baby, Crash, A Beautiful Mind, Titanic, Forrest Gump, Schindler's List...
I would argue there's an even stronger correlation between Elevation and "the films of Ron Howard." A kid named Opie, a fishing pole and a theme song that's whistled instead of sung... that's how it starts.
Reply to: I wonder how you'd do if you tried predicting this year's winners based on your own subjective Elevation feelings. You would have had a hard time choosing between "Crash" and "Brokeback Mountain."
The Academy voters chose Philip Seymour Hoffman (playing Truman Capote) over Heath Ledger for Best Actor that year, but gave Ang Lee the statue for Best Director. If you think the voters have long memories, and are more likely to vote for someone who should have won a previous year but didn't, then Heath Ledger is a lock.
Same for Mickey Rourke, building on his comeback as brain-damaged Marv in "Sin City." Sure, I cry when Julie Andrews falls in love with Captain von Trapp in "The sound of Music," but I also cry at key moments during "Sin city."
For example, when Bruce Willis leaves prison and discovers that little Nancy has grown up into Jessica Alba, and she has a fetish for leather chaps and toy guns, and says,
NANCY: Why do you think I kept writing you those letters? It wasn't just gratitude. I tried to fall in love with boys. I thought I did once or twice. But I was already in love... with you.
How old is Bruce Willis, anyway?
HARTIGAN: That's enough. Jesus Christ. I'm old enough to be your grandfather
NANCY: Whatever you say, Hartigan. Let me throw some clothes on. And here I'd figured you'd forgetten all about me. Me and my dumb letters
HARTIGAN: Your letters kept me going. Kept me from killing myself.
Reply to: If I were a film producer, I would consciously look for Elevation--remembering that it seems to come in moments when characters we believe in achieve something good. Elevation may be the emotion caused when we see people giving themselves up to caring about others.
I would argue that "Sin City" ranks near the top of the list of movies where characters give themselves up to caring about others.
Okay, let me try that again. After his character died at the end of "Armageddon," even Bruce Willis cries.
Great article, as always. It is good to know that many others, including you Roger, share one's own 'affliction'. I Have seen it numerous times but the scene in Casablanca, where Rick is helping the young girl's husband to win at the roulette, never fails to choke me!
Every time I watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and I see the young George Bailey alerting Mr. Gower to the poison in the capsules--and sympathizing with his grief over the death of his son--and apparently forgiving him for boxing his ear in a drunken rage--while the man is boxing his ear in a drunken rage--I feel my eyes well up with tears.
But, then again, I laugh when Donna Reed is an "old maid" in the movie's alternate reality, since I find the notion of an angel like her being unable to find a husband ridiculous.
What do you say, Roger...let's trash the tired, old "star" rating, and implement a new "feelings" rating.
Man 1: What did you think of "Gran Torino?"
Man 2: I give it two quivers of my spine and a deep sigh.
Ebert: That would truly drive the fanboys mad.
I feel this sense of elevation during virtually the entirety of every film Terrence Malick makes. His movies give me the throat-tightness and tear-welling that Roger describes. Yet, unlike many of the movies mentioned, Malick somehow sustains this feeling for an unbelievably long periods of time.
With Malick, it is not because of a person doing something especially good. Rather, Malick provides us with a sense of harmony that is in itself sublime - even in the darkest times. A sense that life itself, with all it's horrors, can lift us up.
Ebert: I wonder if it's how Malick goes straight for the inside and uses plot merely as background.
I sometimes cry at sad parts, but, like you, I find myself most moved by expressions of purity. Most recently, I was struck by the worldless exclamations of wonder in "Man On Wire," and at three separate instances in "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly." However, the first scene that popped into my mind after reading the first paragraph was the following, which I consider to be the finest ending of any movie I've seen. I just love it when a director trusts themselves-and the audience-enough not to spoon feed them some contrived, wrap-up language drenched slop fest.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5dWhFQwfd0
For me, the recent movie that comes to mind is 3:10 to Yuma. It's the moment when Dan tells his son that he's going to march Ben to the station. Actually the surrounding scenes too, when Ben Wade tells Dan that everyone else will quit, then the railroad man does, and he offers to pay Dan to quit too. But Dan decides to do the right thing, and I (having seen it three times in theaters, twice with the same people) experience elevation still.
Elevation is probably the reason I keep coming back to Apollo 13 also. And it's why The Lion King remains my favorite Disney movie; I'm glad to understand why the most moving part is when Simba runs back to the Pridelands to claim the throne. Obviously Mufasa's death is sad, but not even that touches the impact of Simba doing the right thing. Last Christmas during It's a Wonderful Life, I'm not sure but I think my father was rubbing his eyes out of elevation. Politeness kept me from asking him about it. The end of L'Atalante always gets to me too, but I'm not sure if that's from elevation like the others.
It's strange and vulnerable to admit to enthusiasm these days, isn't it? Not fanboyish pride, but plain old happiness.
I feel this way about Donald Hall's great book Without (his poems about the passing of his wife Jane Kenyon).
Its not the parts about her cancer, or even when he specifically talks about her death. It's the mundane little lines where he is writing letters to her about his days, where he mentions mundane things like the weather. They are like little pauses to remind himself he can get through the day. I cry like a little baby every time.
Also, I always cry at the scene in Sleepless in Seattle where Tom Hanks is making fun of the scene in Affair to Remember... It's not a sad moment, but a moment of recognition. Yes, this moment is right. That's how it is. I am laughing too.
How remarkable that there is a name for this phenomenom. My experience with this sort of reaction only came to me in my middle age and until now I had always suspected it was due to some sort of post-chemical damage (self-induced) to my amygdala (and area of the brain believed to be where the memory of and processing of emotional reaction occurs). In any case, my personal Achilles Heel is the final moments of "It's A Wonderful Life" when the beleagured George Bailey is embraced by the overwhelming goodwill of the community he had come so close to abandoning. My trigger is invariably the moment in any film when ego and self interest is abandoned for the sake of the redemption of an individual or ideal. Which should go some way of explaining why even something as sentimental and corny as "Mamma Mia" got my goat on more than one occasion.
Ebert: "It's A Wonderful Life" keeps getting mentioned over and over again. What surprises me a little is that "The Shawshank Redemption" hasn't come up yet.
I can't believe I forgot to mention the longest sustained movie cry of my career, short as it is. A few years ago, while I was a film student, I became an avid reader of Eric Idle's blog during his "Greedy Ba$tard" concert tour. One entry of his rather brilliant (later, published) journal was on the subject of his watching the newly realeased "Concert for George" DVD, which was of a commemorative concert held one year to the day of George Harrison's death, at the Royal Albert Hall in London. Just because I'm twenty-seven, twenty-two at the time of the release, doesn't mean that Harrison's death didn't affect me. His music has always had a special place in my heart, and I truly mourned his loss. So, I ordered it from my video store, and, when it came in, immediately threw it into my DVD player at home. My roommates were nowhere to be found. I watched the entire concert, eschewing the theatrical release for the whole experience. Ravi Shankar's custom-composed symphony, conducted and played by his daughter on native Indian instruments was amazing, and seeing most of the Pythons (and Tom Hanks) was a delight. Emotion was building deep within. Finally, though, came the songs that I could sing along to, with an ever-growing band clambering onto the stage. Jeff Lynne. Gary Brooker. Eric Clapton, of course. "Joe Brown? Who's he?" One face haunts, blesses and mesmerizes: Dhani Harrison, the spitting image of his father frIom the early Mop Top days. Everything building within, more emotion. I'm singing along, but it's getting blurry. Everyone is clearly enjoying themselves. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers come aboard, singing a song that makes me think that Petty could have been a crooner in the fifties. Then, he drags Lynne and Dhani onstage to do a Wibury's number. Ooh, boy. Boiling point is on the horizon. A few songs and artists later, it's Ringo! I know just the song he's gonna do, and I know it'll probably get me going even further. I was right, it's the song George wrote for him back in '70 for Ringo's self-titled solo album. "Photograph." This song is already my anthem for my departed father, so it's definitely charged with emotion. How could it not be?
"Every time I see your face,
it reminds me of the places
we used to go.
But, all I've got is a photograph,
and I realize you're not coming back
anymore."
The words are coming, but they're slurred. The image is really starting to smear. Then, I see it. The dam bursting. Tom Scott goes into his saxophone solo, and Clapton, playing right behind Dhani, burst into tears. That's it, sayonara, that's all she wrote. There is still a strangled attempt to sing, but, really, it's more sobbing. Actual heaving sobs. Not just because the man is well and truly gone, not just because a man who's arguably seen and done almost anything there is to see and do in a very tough arena has shown vulnerability, or even because I was lonely and missed my dad; rather, it was because it was such a moment of pure humanity. A natural point at which all of the emotion that had been building for the previous two hours had finally reached a critical mass. It wasn't contrived, there was no emoting of false feelings, no glycerin in the eyes, while overcharged violins in the back urged a feeling that otherwise wouldn't exist. A good man died, and his friends honored him in a manner that was completely fitting. Even though McCartney came out one song later, the emotional bubble had burst. I did moisten a little at his ukelele'd "Something," which is indeed a transcendent song. Sinatra's favorite Beatles tune.
Still, the cleansing cry had already occurred, which left me able to feel the exhilaration of the last few songs. With Paul onstage, Ringo was able to join the four other percussionists at the back, making the remaining songs amazing to watch, with everyone in perfect rhythm. There must have been twenty guitarists, plus Billy Preston on the Hammond, Brooker on keys... A true super-concert. With George's portrait above, looking on at the audience's "My Sweet George" banners. Joe Brown's final mandolin-ed "I'll See You In My Dreams," accented by falling rose petals, was like a perfect after-dinner mint: not too spicy, not too sweet. Just right.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oM2FBxb7x24
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvH6fxP5hMo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pD6-BlVCs74
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwKTXyF_6B8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Mu8D69uxA0
Wonderful post this. I also loved your earlier post on Redemption. You should write more on the same lines and perhaps expand it into a book. It's a wonderful idea i think. I just can't stop reading. This topic fascinates me and i have never read anything like it - examples of movies and derivative feelings of redemption, elevation and sheer joy. Please think about it. In my opinion, there is no other writer on the planet who can do a better job.
I knew what article you were going to be talking about the moment I read the introductory paragraph! I read it last month on Slate. It's a great article.
One of the other things I remember from the article, though, was its mention that there's little correlation between the feeling of uplift and the viewer's own choice to take inspiring actions. I might watch a video of a woman who sacrifices all her free time to work with the poor, and think "That woman is amazing", but it won't necessarily motivate me to take time out of my schedule to do it myself.
This is something I've been thinking about a lot in light of Obama's election. For many of us, it really did feel like we had "made it"-- that we had elected a good man and everything would be perfect from now on. But I feel (and Yoffe's article helped cement for me) how fruitless to just sit back and say, "well, that's that; I did my good deed for the century." I want to keep giving, and doing, and helping to make the world a better place.
My hope for President Obama, whether or not he is a good in the policy arena (it remains to be seen) is that he continues to encourage this attitude, rather than taking on the Bush motto of "everything's a-ok folks, you don't have to sacrifice a thing."
Ebert: That paragraph struck me, too. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. What may happen, though, is that such moments open our minds. I am a different person than I started out to be, because of the movies.
Dear Roger,
this post surely means a lot to people (like me) who think of themselves as rather cynical and tend to despise outbursts of sentimentality in films. It is here that you, maybe unintentionally, explain why we have decided to be cynical: because of all those masses of cheap sentimentality we're being bombarded with in uninspired, yet overly ambitious productions.
Yes, I too occasionally feel my throat tightening, my sight getting blurry during the climatic scenes of some films, but never from seeing the "good guy" getting killed off at the end. It is quite likely one of the most frenquently employed cheap sentimentality tricks in the history of cinematography. The one scene I immediately remembered while reading your post was that in "Schindler's List", when Liam Neeson receives a ring from Ben Kingsley. I otherwise particularly despise Spielberg's brand of sentimentality and it was the major reason why it took me nearly 10 years to see "Schindler's List" for the first time. I didn't want to like it. But the above mentioned scene... It was obviously an example of a shameless abuse of my vagus nerve, according to your explanation. Yet my brain, too, knows what makes this scene so special and meaningful.
A film-maker aiming at cheap sentimentality would here possibly rely on Schindler's feeling of pride for having done a good thing. But Spielberg knows Schindler better, he knows the full complexity of his character and reveals it in this scene. Schindler breaks down because only then, for the first time, does he become really aware of what he had done, what it all meant. And instead of immense pride he is overcome with deepest humility, most obvious in his conclusion: "I should have saved more people." At that moment both him and us, the audience, realise that our world is so wrong because we tend to think that doing good is something outstanding that demands a special man and deserves a special award. Everything that's wrong about our world stems from the fact that doing good is far from being a standard, the norm that it is supposed to be.
Are cynical people then really so wrong? They tend to despise Bono, Greenpeace and most blockbusters not because it's written down in some cynical manifesto, but because they know what's so wrong about self-aware benefaction. It feels neither real nor right. My god, how many other masterpieces have I missed just because all those cheap tear-jerkers are giving them a bad name?
When I was younger - four years ago, roundabout - I believed it was inappropriate to feel tears welling up during emotional parts of films. Whenever I watched The Lion King, I would remain stony-faced and stoic during the death of Mufasa (surely everyone knows that happens, I don't need to spoiler it), even though a part of me was always saying, "Holy crap, this is sad".
In fact, I think my viewpoint changed upon seeing Ray for the first time when I was 15, in a half-full cinema. The scene in which Ray is tied to the bed in rehab, going through the most hideous withdrawal, caught me out of left field and, dammit, I nearly cried. I've never addressed why I cried until now, reading this, and I figure, it's not because it was a sad thing - it wasn't, really - it was because it signaled a change in character for Ray Charles, that he realised what he had to do in order to give his family and himself the best life possible. It was life-affirming, even more so because it was a true story, to see one man realise his wrongs and go through all kinds of hell to make it better for those around him.
Now, as I expand my cinematic intake and allow myself to become involved in these films, I find myself affected more often than I expected. In The Kite Runner, I teared up as Amir read the letter Hassan wrote to him, because of Hassan's unwavering optimism and loyalty towards Amir, even when his friend turned his back on him. In Stranger Than Fiction, one of my favourite movies after seeing it a few weeks ago, I was moved to near-tears when Harold accepts his fate because it's what is right. In The Visitor, tears welled up as Walter realises there's no more he can do, and yet Mouna still thanks him (I think I also got a bit teary when Walter told Tarek about the trip he, Mouna and Zainab took on the Staten Island Ferry).
And, dammit, I cry in The Lion King when Mufasa dies, not because he dies, but because he saves his son while doing it - he makes the ultimate sacrifice so his son may live.
It may not apply to every situation that involves 'Elevation', but (spoiler warning ahead for those who haven't seen the magnificent Stranger Than Fiction) I think Karen Eiffel's response to Professor Hilbert's question, as to why she changed the ending of her book, sums up my feelings perfectly.
"Because he's real?"
"Because it's a book about a man who doesn't know he's about to die. And then dies. But if a man does know he's about to die and dies anyway. Dies- dies willingly, knowing that he could stop it, then- I mean, isn't that the type of man who you want to keep alive?"
Ebert: This is turning into one of the great threads, but I find I'm commenting less on the posts, because I can't just keep saying "Yes."
Yes absolutely to the Stiller/Hackman scene in Tenenbaums. Damn near makes me cry every time.
"Sorry I let you down, Chas. All of you. I've been trying to make it up to you."
"What's his name?"
"Spark Plug."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I've had a rough year, Dad."
"I know you have, Chassie."
And of course, Field of Dreams. Not just Ray playing catch with his dad. The glassy eyes start at "It was you." "No, Ray. It was you."
AND the end of Jerry Maguire. And I'm not talking about the "you complete me" stuff. For some reason the bit that gets to me is Rod being interviewed, and he says "Wait, I'm forgetting someone...Jerry Maguire." I can't explain why it moves me so.
almost the entirety of synecdoche, new york, but really, the ending...it fades to white, and my friend leans over to me and says "if that song plays again, im gonna lose it"...and it did...and we both just sat there in tears. probably one of the best moments i've had in theatres in a long, long time.
on the flip side, the first few minutes of the dark knight, a movie i feel like i had waited for my entire life, gave me the same reaction. it's why i go to the movies.
I've found lately that I've gotten emotional during the most unusual moments in movies. Those films which I might have seen at some point during my childhood; when I didn't think much of them at the time. They might not even have been that sad or sentimental; but for some reason or another they caused an elation of my spirit (similar to what you described above). Of course, there are still those countless transcendent moments that make me "loose it" so to speak. Here are a few I'd like to share:
Let's spare ourselves the clichés shall we? Since we all know how those films make us feel: Case in point: The Wizard of Oz, Schindler's List, The Shawshank Redemption, Love Story, Forrest Gump, Rudy, Terms of Endearment and It's a Wonderful Life. Here are some that you might remember well but wouldn't otherwise recall right on the spot:
Here's my list in no particular order:
1) "Magnolia" (Paul Thomas Anderson 1999)
This happens somewhere during the midway point of the film. The editing and pacing has become so frenetic and precise that we can practically feel the characters breathing down our necks. All the stories and lives collide and we feel the emotions swelling like a storm about to burst. During a crucial interview scene with Tom Cruise we can feel the years of pain sweltering underneath the manic fascade. Innercut with a devastating moment with Julianne Moore at a Pharmacy, the dramatic tension keeps piling on. Tom Cruise replies to the reporter after being asked: "What are you doing Frank?” He says, "I'm quietly, judging you." Music swells, you know the rest.
2) "Kramer v. Kramer" (Robert Benton 1979)
This occurs somewhere during the point when Meryl Streep's character is being grilled by the lawyer during the courtroom scene. She is an emotional wreck, when confronted with the question about whether the failure of her marriage to Dustin Hoffman was her fault; she looks at him for a brief moment. Hoffman quietly shakes his head, no. This is a highly emotional scene which represents the two of them finally coming to terms with one another, and moreover, with themselves. That one always leaves me breathless.
3) Pygmalion (Anthony Asquith 1938)
I know that the Audrey Hepburn/Rex Harrison version gets all the attention, but Wendy Hiller was so beautiful and so heartbreaking in the role opposite Leslie Howard. Towards the end Eliza has left Prof. Higgins, leaving him feeling defeated and remorseful. He is reduced to re-playing his old tape recordings of their vocal lessons together. She returns to find him defeated and sulking in his chair, remembering how stupid he was for letting her go. As he turns to notice her, trying desperately to hold onto his once dignified manner; he asks her for his slippers.
4) A Beautiful Mind (Ron Howard 2001)
Ron Howard deserved all the accolades for his wonderful version of John Nash's story. In a pivotal scene Nash is left feeling quite desperate, since he is not sure his wife will return after the two of them had a bad argument. He hears her car outside the window; notice how observed Crowe's performance is here. Jennifer Connelly walks quietly into his room, looking so soulful as only that actress can. "The doctor said to call me if you try and kill me or anything." She says calmly and with lots of love. John smiles, she approaches him and places her palm over his hand, bringing it closer to her chest. "You want to know what's real" she says: "this is real".
5) My Neighbor Totoro (Hayao Miyazaki 1988)
The whole movie is great, but for some reason I just love the scene when the father is bathing with the two daughters; his children are afraid that spirits are lurking around the house (Not to mention the violent wind outside isn't helping). To lift their spirits, he starts laughing uncontrollably. This is a moment of pure joy which feels totally authentic. Only a master of animation could have crafted such a sequence.
6) Slumdog Millionaire (Danny Boyle 2008)
There is a key moment in Slumdog Millionaire when I start to get a lump in my throat and completely loose it. It happens somewhere during the entire ending music montage, not the credit sequence but shortly after Jamal has won the money. We are treated to flashbacks of the film and how Jamal arrived where he is. Seeing the children’s' faces and knowing what we know about the story up to that point, leaves one with such overwhelming emotion, you can't help but get swept up in the cheery optimism of it all. By the end, you feel like dancing in the isles.
7) Spider-Man 3 (Sam Raimi 2007)
O.k., I know what you're thinking. This is not a perfect film by any stretch of imagination. I wasn't even moved by the series when I first saw it in theatres. Like most, I felt it was passable, but the series has grown on me throughout the years, and I now identify with the characters. I consider Spider-Man a referrential adolenscent coming-of-age fantasy. I recently saw the trilogy on a huge HD TV on Blu-Ray, so my experience was somewhat enhanced. I admit, I got caught up in Peter Parker's story. There is a moment near the end when Harry is killed by Eddie Brock who has transformed into Venom. Peter forgives Harry for all the things he's done and Harry is at peace with himself. "You're my friend Peter.." Harry says to him. "Best Friends." Peter replies. When Tobey Maguire started crying, I started to cry along with him.... (Feel free to make fun of me now. But I'm not done with my list just yet).
8) The Shoes of the Fisherman (Michael Anderson 1968)
This was such a transcendent performance by Anthony Quinn. A role he was born to play. The film is an epic journey of one man's soul, his emotional burdens and the duties he must fulfill. It can be seen as the journey of all men presented with monumental responsibilities, who must succeed in a world full of oppression. Leo Mckern is tremendous as Cardinal Leone. There's a moment when he confesses his jealously of Quinn's relationship to a troubled young priest. Quinn replies: "I too have sinned." At this point as the scene progresses, the two men have mutual understanding of one another's pain. The dramatic power complete with Alex North's haunting score is enough to floor you.
9) The Lost Weekend (Billy Wilder 1946)
The Lost Weekend is one of my favorite films for two primary reasons. The acting and the writing. This is such a wonderful performance by Ray Milland who bears all and doesn't show a hint of vanity in the role. Its a part he was born to play. The writing is like a great novel, bringing out the sides of yourself you never thought could emerge; while at the same time entertaining the hell out of you. There's that powerful monologue at the end as Don Burnham looks out the window of the city. Yeah, that gets me teared up each and every time.
10) Dark City (Alex Proyas 1998)
There are so much more I want to mention, but I fear I don't have the space or time. I'll settle for 10 and leave you with Dark City. I just love the scene towards the end when Mr. Hand asks John Murdock "What makes him human?" John replies: "You're not gonna find it in here.." Pointing to his forehead, he finishes by saying: "You went looking in the wrong place!" Mr. Hand then gives off a puzzling expression while John completes the last of his "Tuning" of the city. John opens a door which exposes a wave of bright light, unveiling a beautiful and vast blue ocean. The scene has such overwhelming emotional power that I can hardly forget it. Such scenes transcend time and space, and are what wonderful movie moments are all about.
I saw United 93 in Iraq with a room full of service men and women. That was an uncomfortable screening. Good movie though.
I don't know if you're big on television but did you ever see the show "Lost"?
Thank you for this incredibly well timed (from my viewpoint) article.
Just this Sunday, in response to a meme on Twitter to list seven things people don't know about you, I listed my experience of Elevation as one (though at the time I asked if anyone knew what to call it).
In addition to many of the moments you and other commenters mention, a few of my triggers:
1. The Iron Giant - "I'm Superman" This one moved my so deeply, I teared up just mentioning it to my sons the next day.
2. Babe - "That'll do, pig"
3. Old Yeller - For years I've tried to use this as an example, only to hear "Who doesn't cry at the end of Old Yeller?". The thing is, though, I'm not crying because Old Yeller dies. I'm crying because Travis steps up and takes the rifle to do it himself.
4. Secretariat winning the 1973 Belmont Stakes by 31 lengths. I didn't even see it when it happened, but I get teary every time I see it.
5. This article. I'm sure glad I read it in the morning instead of, for instance, while having my sack lunch at work.
Ebert: Bill Nack showed me a video of secretariat winning, and I was affected the same way. It was beyond the possible. It was transcendent.
Thanks for nailing down this feeling, which I experienced many times while watching movies, but could never put a name to. Here are some elevation moments in the movies, in no particular order. I'm sure I could think of many more of these; it really does seem to be a key element of the best movies:
-- The Iron Giant: The robot sacrificing himself by flying into the nuclear warhead
-- Independence Day: Randy Quaid sacrificing himself by flying into the alien mothership (hmm, I see a pattern in these...)
-- Elf: Zooey Deschanel realizing she needs to sing to get everyone to generate enough Christmas spirit to make Santa's sleigh fly. And then, when James Caan joins in, and it does.
-- E.T: Many moments, including when Eliot realizes E.T. is still alive, and when E.T. says goodbye.
-- Forrest Gump: When Forrest and Jenny meet at the anti-war rally.
-- Rudy: Many moments, not only the final play, but also when Rudy gets into Notre Dame, and the way his father reacts to entering the stadium.
Star Wars: When Han Solo comes back to save Luke during the assault on the Death Star.
Return of the Jedi: When Darth Vader finally decides to turn on the Emperor and save Luke. (another pattern!)
-- Hoosiers: The way Dennis Hopper's son says goodbye to him at the hospital before the big game. And Dennis Hopper's reaction to the game while listening on the hospital radio.
-- Galaxy Quest: When the dying alien tells Alan Rickman how Rickman has been an inspiration to him.
-- The Color Purple: When Shug leads the juke joint customers into the church and reunites with her father. Also when Celie meets her children.
-- Ratatouille: When Remy's father decides to have the rats help him in the kitchen.
A perfect entry (or so I feel) to this "elevation" category is "Rudy."
When he leads the team out onto the field before the final game, I get choked up. But, when they carry him off that field on their shoulders, I-...I-...crap...where did that box of tissues go?
The film that get me every single time, and I've watched it a hundred times just so I can experience that moment again is Field of Dreams. "Hey...Dad? Wanna have a catch?" It is almost a pavlovian response now.
"When I read these words you quoted in your reviw of The Wind that Shakes the Barley"
Robert Dwyer Joyce (1830-1883),
'Twas hard the woeful words to frame to break the ties that bound us / But harder still to bear the shame of foreign chains around us.
Only recently saw the film but understood so clearly what theose words meant and I am only 26
Also in random order:
Wall-E
The opening song from the Lion King
Rudy when he finally passes the exam after so many attempts-my big brother and I choked up
Hyde Park-when the crowd started answering each time Obama said Yes we can.And I am not American but Trinidadian(that's not in Jamaica)
When Ali lit the Olympic torch
When I saw the pic of Jett Tarvolta kissing his dad
My country got to the World Cup for the first time last year and it was celebration in the streets just like when Obama won.
A few more great elevation moments. (Man, I could think of these all night; it brings back good memories):
-- Star Trek II: Spock sacrificing himself by opening the nuclear reactor to save the Enterprise, followed by Kirk's eulogy of him.
-- Forever Young: Mel Gibson, having suddenly turned into an old man, flying to see his old sweetheart at the end.
-- An Officer and a Gentleman: The last scene, of course. Richard Gere has said the director originally wasn't sure whether to put that scene in the movie, because he thought it might be too corny. But then he noticed that when they filmed it, all the extras in the factory started crying tears of joy.
-- Rounders: Martin Landau giving Matt Damon all the money he can, to help Damon get out of trouble.
-- Armageddon: Yes, I know you gave it only one star. But Bruce Willis saying goodbye to his daughter before he blows up the asteroid gets me every time.
-- The Sixth Sense: Two moments: Haley Joel Osment telling his mom that his grandmother told him she is proud of her "every day". And Bruce Willis saying his final goodbye to his wife after he realizes what's happened to him.
-- Dances with Wolves: Wind-in-his-Hair yelling to Kevin Costner at the end, "Do you see that I am your friend? Can you see that I will always be your friend?"
Dear Mr. Ebert,
First, thank you for your blog. I make a point of reading every new post. I passed along your last one ("All by ourselves alone") to a friend who also travels quite a bit and she said she knows exactly what you were talking about.
As to this post, I know that feeling of Elevation well. I don't cry usually. But there are some cinematic moments that bring on the tears. I'm thinking specifically of the end of "Saving Pvt. Ryan" and "Road to Perdition".
You know what really gets me, though? That one "Twilight Zone" episode where Art Carney is a drunk who gets to be Santa. Tears stream down my face at that.
Best wishes!
How about the nobility of the daughter who tells her dad at the end of "In America," "Say goodby to Frankie". That's beautiful and devastating.
The poetry of Mary Oliver tends to hit this note. And isn't it amazing that after all the unflinching pain in "Cries and Whispers" you get at the end that tear-inducing moment of joy -- a walk in the woods with sisters and the uplifted feeling, however fleeting, that life is good.
When Susanna says Figaro's name in the opening of "The Marriage of Figaro" I swear that note somehow gives sublime noise to all the dignity and forgiveness of human love. One note, such elevation!
Plus there's David Foster Wallace's story "Good People" and his essays. And season four of "The Wire". Raymond Carver's "Cathedral". Bellow: "The Adventures of Augie March".
And the story of missed opportunities of good people doing good things, O'Connor's "A Good Man Is Hard to Find". Likewise, the scene in "My Architect" where a friend of the filmmaker's dad tells him how much his father loved Christmas, which he tended not to spend with his son. It's such a quiet lonely scene.
I love the decency of "Once": two people meeting up and giving each other what they need to move forward to the places they should already have been headed.
Ebert: Raymond Carver over and over again. Elevation is his metier.
I am glad you have finally put a name to the face of elevation that I experience during movies as well. I will give you an example. I watched Wes Anderson's 'The Royal Tennenbaums' last night, and as I always am, was amazed at how much I end up caring about Anderson's completely and intentionally bizarre and un-real characters. In this, and in 'The Life Aquatic' and in 'The Darjeeling Limited', Anderson so intently makes oblique and weird characters that by rights should not be at all engaging, but his genius is that they ARE.
Anyway, on the elevation. Late in 'The Royal Tennenbaums', after Gene Hackman's character (Royal) has tried repeatedly to re-connect with his three genius adult children, but is once again shown to be a selfish 'asshole' (to use Royal's phrasing), he saves his two grandchildren from being run over by a car. Now, this should be a completely sentimental scene, but for me it was very moving, precisely because his son (the children's father) had been so emotionally scarred by the death of his wife that he obsessed over the safety of his two sons. Now, the elevation part of this is that Royal, in addition to saving his grandchildren's lives, also knows that he did it to show HIS son that he cared about HIM because he knew that the safety of his sons was important. Royal had that cross-over to actually thinking about someone else that was the start of his character's change. That was the elevation, that sent the spine tingling in me, and made my throat close up and tears well in my eye. It was that momement when we, as a viewer, realized that Royal realized that he had done a selfless act, and it was not an act of merely saving a life, but it was one of understanding his son. That was the moment of elevation, for me.
Anyway, this has been a long paragraph of a moment that lasts about 5 seconds in the film, but its the most fresh moment of elevation for me as it relates to movies, so I thought I would share.
Ebert: Several posters have mentioned 'The Royal Tennenbaums'
I bought "Short Cuts" DVD in 2006 and Criterion provided Raymond Carver's short stories among supplements at that time. The ending of 'A Small, Good Thing'(It's about dead boy's parents and the baker who made vicious phone calls because they didn't come to get ordered birthday cake) gave me that kind of elevation you mentioned, and that moment was also very moving in the movie. When boy's parents finally go to bakery to confront him, they find unexpected comfort and it touched my heart.
For comparison, I watched other two movies in a row after that. I found the elevation felt in these movies was still palpable. In "Magnolia", the quiz show sequence was intercut with characters under increasing stress. All these people came to me as real human beings, and I empathized with them. That's why I had another moment of elevation during deathbed sequence. Frank Mackey has tried to hide his scars by being just like father, whom he has hated him deeply. However, it turns out that he is not as a tough one as he has thought. In front of dying father, he tries to hold conflicting emotions, but they are beyond his control.
I was surprised to see that "Crash" won three Oscars including Best Picture, but I would not have been surprised if I had watched it before Oscar ceremony. "The welling up of a few tears in my eyes, a certain tightness in my throat, and a feeling of uplift" was precise description of what I felt during the second encounter between Officer Ryan and Christine. I knew a bit about the plot because I had read some negative articles and your reply, but this scene was far stronger emotional punch than I expected. After "Magnolia", I watched "Crash", and there was still elevation.
There are many precious moments I have experienced from other movies. "The Lives of Others" provides another case of elevation. The last scene where Wiesler realizes his choice was not futile is the one of best scenes I saw in 2007. In the end of "Pan's Labyrinth", I don't know whether it is victory or comfort for Ofelia, but she finally gets what she wants and I was moved. The last scene of "Requiem for a Dream" may be generous decision for Ellen Burstyn, but it's very heartbreaking for me. ("I love you, Harry" - "I love you too, Mom")
The movies in 2008 provides many wonderful moments to me, too. You can compare the last scene of "No Country For Old Men" with that of "Fargo". The Sheriff can't control things happening around him and the end seems to be near, but he has loving wife and that may be only warm consolation. "Wall-E" has many loving moments. When Wall-E tries to take care of 'comatose' Eve, it's simultaneously funny and very touching. "Dark Knight" presents vivid characters shaken by sheer chaos and cornered by impossible choices. "Waltz with Bashir" is something new and provides unforgettable moments. "Juno" and "Happy-go-Lucky" are brimmed with positive energy.
Now, 2009 begins and I'm ready. I started with "Milk", and I'm looking forward to others: "Frozen River", "Frost/Nixon", "The Wrestler", "Doubt", "Slumdog Millionaire".... I use my computer for watching these moives and writing my reviews and Oscar prediction earlier, but I have one strict rule: when it arrives at theaters, see it again regardless of wheather I like it or not. Recent example is "Be Kind Rewind", which I still don't like much. There still is VHS market in Korea and I think it can be released on VHS.
I feel this way every time I watch that Obama music video Will.i.am and all those other celebrities did. I know, right? It's the part with John Legend, I believe, singing along with Obama: "And a King who took us to the mountain top, and pointed the way to the promised land-- Yes We Can." And his arms are outstretched and he looks so happy and hopeful. I'm not religious, I don't support a sports team, I'm not a joiner by nature-- but this election made me feel bigger. It made me feel like I belonged to America, and America belonged to me.
Movie moments:
Ennis and the shirt in Brokeback Mountain. I saw the film once and I can never watch it again.
The tent scene between Margot (Gwyneth Paltrow) and Richie (Luke Wilson) in The Royal Tenenbaums-- when she bends over his wrists. The highlight of Paltrow's career in my eyes. I never knew so many people loved The Royal Tenenbaums.
The scene of Tomas (Daniel Day-Lewis) and Teresa (the glorious Juliette Binoche) dancing at the country inn and driving in their truck in The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Pretty much any DDL film I've ever seen wraps up my heart at one point-- the scene in bed at the end of The Ballad of Jack and Rose, with his daughter. The scene where he tells Emily Watson's that she's always had his soul in The Boxer. What is it about some actors that moves us so much? Morgan Freeman has this way of making small words, even folding his hands, seem Beautiful and Important. It's magical.
I am not one that is easily moved to tears by a film. From my perspective, the film has to really earn that emotion.
I was very moved by two moments during "Forrest Gump". One when Jenny denies Forrest's proposal of marriage and he turns and says "I'm not a smart man, but I know what love is". There was something about the way he said "love is" that just strikes the right note of heartbreak and disappointment. The other comes when he is at his mother's deathbed and he leans forward and asks "What's my destiny, mama?" She's always been the source of truth for him and knowing that she's going to die he tries to find the answer.
I was moved by those moments very deeply but not necessarily to tears. The moment that brought me to tears was at the very end of "Schindler's List" when the Jews that Schindler has saved leave for a small town and as they appear on the horizon the film turns to color and we see that they are the real survivors with their children and their grandchildren. That is an extraordinary moment, an affirmation that one man's act of kindness and bravery have roots and that his accountant's assertion that "There will be generations because of what you did" has come to pass. What a moment.
Great article, and responses. For me, it doesn't get any better than a couple of Iranian films, especially Children of Heaven.
Ebert: A great film. I showed it at Ebertfest.
There was an extraordinary documentary last year called "Dear Zachary: a letter to a son about his father." Long story short, a woman killed the man whose child she was about to give birth to. The dead man's parents tried to get custody of the child, but for some unknown reason, the courts granted it to the woman. However, the grandparents got supervised visitation, which meant that in order to see their grandchild, they had to spend significant amounts of time with the woman who murdered their son in cold blood.
The story is a tragedy, and it made me cry, but what affected me most was (as you said) good people doing a good thing. Those grandparents are nothing less than saints, and I still get the chills when I think about the way they expressed their love for that baby.
I don't know if you've seen the film; if not, I would highly recommend it. "Dear Zachary" has gotten lost amidst the hype for some other documentaries - and the Oscar nominating committee naturally shrugged it off - but it deserves to be recognized.
An unexpected tearing moment occurred last summer in, of all things, MOMMA MIA! I hadn't seen the play and was only marginally aware of the songs when they were popular
It was the scene in the middle of the film where they perform "Dancing Queen".
It was done with such joy and feeling that I was overwhelmed with complete bliss, and soon had tears running down both cheeks while I had a huge grin on my face.
It was a rare and precious moment of film going!
I am going to be another person mentioning the Royal Tenenbaums, but I was particularly moved by this passage quoted above:
""Sorry I let you down, Chas. All of you. I've been trying to make it up to you."
"What's his name?"
"Spark Plug."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I've had a rough year, Dad."
"I know you have, Chassie.""
I've been thinking about this movie a lot lately, particularly that scene and the "I think you're having a nervous breakdown" scene, and the "As soon as Royal said those words, he knew them to be true scene". Now that we're at the end of the decade, I think Royal Tenenbaums is the movie that best defines the 00s to me.
It came out at the start of the decade, and features a family of people who have emotionally shut down. They are all overgrown children (indeed, even the director himself treats them like dolls in a dollhouse, like a child would). As the movie goes along, particularly towards the end, they "wake up" and realize that it is OK to feel — to be moved by the company of friends and family, to admit that life has been difficult and they're hurting inside. In a lot of ways, this can be the hardest thing to do, and the first step to leading a better life.
I could go on, but this isn't a thread about the Royal Tenenbaums. The movie does make me feel elevated, with the joy of that discovery and the joy of filmmaking. Suffice to say, I think a lot of Americans have felt like the Tenenbaums this decade — reverting to children, bottling up emotions. This is a country that, I think, never truly confronted the deep wound of 9/11 because we were too busy lashing out like kids. Overall, it's really been a fairly painful decade that we've tried to pretend is OK (like the characters in that film), and being honest about how bad it has been is the first step to coming out of it.
"I've had a rough year, Dad."
"I know you have, Chassie.""
My elevation movies are:
- Every Rocky movie
- The end of Karate Kid 1
- The scene in the 6th Sense where the kid tells his mother about how her mother watched her ballet recital
Only once in 40 years of movie attendance have I cried all the way through (after the first few minutes)and it was Elevation all right. My wife, right next to me, hadn't even noticed. It was in seeing the documentary Pete Seeger: The Power of a Song. I remember it started early in the movie with an old photograph of Seeger standing awkwardly and sincerely at the background of some group of do-gooders. What is more elevating than a life dedicated to sharing and contributing to the good of others, always remaining humble himself. The sight of Pete Seeger in his eighthies leading a school room of six year olds in a sing-a-long about a better world, exuding the campfire spirit to the end.
Ebert: Try this one: "The Weavers: Wasn't That a Time!.
Maybe Catharsis is the emotional release of sadness or anger while elation represents the emotional affirmation of the good. There seems to be a cathartic aspect to elation. When we cry at someone else screen nobility, I feel like we clear a way some of the dross within ourselves. I think that there is a tremendous release involved in the knowledge that "there is the kind of person I identify as good." I guess I am describing elation as if it were something like resolve. It might not be ethical resolve. It almost always is with me. But, I guess is could be an aesthetic pleasure in goodness. I guess then that the ethical and cathartic aspect of elation would be secondary.
What do I find elevating?
Grace. Costly grace get me every time. I mentioned earlier the scene in Dead Man Walking when the Father begins to say the "Our Father" upon seeing his dead daughter. Faithfulness. Especially love between the very old. There is a manipulative scene in "The Peacemaker" where an elderly couples rushes out in the night to help people on a train wreck (they are blown up by a nuclear bomb boo hoo,) but somehow the director gets across their friendship and the habitualness of their goodness. And of course, things that remind me that we can change, and that we can help each other change through love and grace and faithfulness.
Actually, I owe you for recommending the greatest moment of screen elation--the final scene of Ikiru.
Wow, is this timely! I've seen The Third Man many times, and yesterday I sat down to watch the new Blu-ray disc. As Holly Martins pulled into the train station at the beginning of the film, my throat tightened and my eyes watered up. I thought this was a strange reaction, so unexpected, but after reading your column I suspect that the appearance of Joseph Cotten triggered something inside that was telling me how much enjoyment the movie has given me in the past, and that it was about to again.
It's interesting...I blogged on a similar experience I witnessed at, of all movies, "Hotel for Dogs" (a little girl crying because she was happy). Of course, I did not realize all that you state here, but I've felt that same feeling several times.
I get it during the final moments of "The Shawshank Redemption." Not when we realize Andy has escaped, but simply that beautiful sequence at the end with Red on the bus saying that he hopes to see his friend, concluding simply and perfectly with "I hope..."
Like you, I felt that way when the mother graduated from nursing classes in "Hoop Dreams."
When the old man in "Saving Private Ryan" begs his wife to tell him he's a good man.
When Ellen Page and Michael Cera sit on the steps and sing during the final moments of "Juno."
The final shot in "About Schmidt," as Jack Nicholson is reading the letter from his Compassion child in Africa and looks up, tears streaming down his face.
I am not much of a crier. But the one movie that has never failed to get me all misty eyed is watching the final moments of the original "All Dogs Go To Heaven" .
Thank you for the name and information on the feeling. I particularly found it interesting because some of the books and articles I've read over the last few years on "happiness" (not self-help but studies etc.) seem to have centred around this, though none identified it. Among other things, it was found money only makes a person happy when they give it away (yes, an oversimplification). I suspect this is true because it stimulates the nerve you speak of.
I wonder if a scene in "As Good as it Gets" is related. It is where Simon (Greg Kinnear) is in the hospital after having been beaten in his apartment. He finally looks at himself in a mirror and softly says, "Oh my ... Where'd I go?" (To me, it goes beyond cuts and bruises to a feeling of being utterly lost in the world, unable to find himself.)
I always find that a moving moment, but I don't think it could be described Elevation. I suppose it would be intense empathy. Still, something is triggered and it strikes me it would be that same nerve.
I have welled up and have felt that sublime elevation in many movies. However, the only movie that has moved me to openly cry because of that feeling is the Burmese Harp. Growing up as an South Korean immigrant, I have an ingrained prejudice against the Japanese, especially when I hear stories from my family about WWII. To see a film about a soldier trying to stop blind fanaticism was deeply moving to me. A large part is the immediacy of the music to both trigger an emotional response and become a symbol of peace and empathy.
Ebert: What surprises me a little is that "The Shawshank Redemption" hasn't come up yet.
I was reading through the posts and wondering the same thing... for me, out of many, many 'elevating' movie moments, the shot of Andy walking across the sandy beach towards Red is one of the most beautiful ever...
This is the first time I've read through all the comments. What a pleasure to read. For me, many of my favourite moments have already been mentioned, especially from Magnolia and Fargo.
I'll mention two other films. One is "Waking Ned Devine" in the funeral scene when everyone must suddenly pretend that it's not actually Ned in the coffin. The man at the microphone eulogizes his living friend instead, who is sitting in the audience listening. We sense that perhaps for the first time he tells his friend how much he really loves him.
Another is a movie that too few people have seen: Edward Yang's "Yi Yi." There are many scenes, Ill mention two. One is when the little boy explains to his Grandmother's corpse why he had been unable to say anything to her when she was dying. Another is when the father bursts out in anger upon discovering that his partners are backing out of a deal they made in good faith, and now he must break the news to the injured party. I forget his exact words but he says something to the effect of, "Have we forgotten about dignity!?" and slams down the phone. Later we find that he has quit the firm because he has no wish to be a part of a business where it's not important to be a good man.
My favorites are:
-The scene in Driving Miss Daisy when Morgan Freeman feeds the pie to Jessica Tandy.
-In Once Around, when Danny Aiello carries Richard Dreyfuss into the house when we can't walk from the car.
-In A Raisin in the Sun, when the grandmother takes her little plant from the old apartment to the new house.
"Yes, there is a good person, doing a good thing."
I think immediately of Lars and the Real Girl. Good people doing a good thing. And making a great movie.
Also, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. After Joel has fought and fought against the blanching of his memories to hold on to Clementine. Realizing how different they were and at odds, yet how strong love was between them in the little things and not wanting to lose her (his final memory, his first one, of her in the house out on the beach -- the reason movies are made).
Then Clementine, in the movie's final scene, opines to Joel about how he will find out things he doesn't like about her and she will get fed up and bored with him. And then Joel looks at her and says "Okay". And Clementine looks back, eyes on him alone, and says "Okay".
That movie elevates us to Love.
Return of the King
When the fires are lit, Aragorn rushes in saying "Gondor calls for aid!" and Theoden states after the slightest of hesitation "and Rohan will answer"
Many of the films cited above get me going. As one poster already noted, when I was younger this emotional response was minimal. After I had children of my own, it began to happen quite often (and TWICE during Armaggeddon - Bruce Willis saying goodbye to his daughter; Will Patton greeting his son upon his return). The common link for me (that you have now helped me to realize more clearly) is the elation of doing something extraordinary for the good of one's child - even in movies that are not so good.
The movie scene that affects me the most, and has me blubbering like a child every time, is the final moments of Cinema Paradiso. I have seen it many times, know what's coming, know that I'm about to be manuipulated, and still the tears just pour. It is a perfect moment of many emotions that surface during the film and come together simultaneously. It is a statement of pure love by Philipe Noiret's character that strikes me, and reaches its peak with the clip of Salvatore's lost love.
Thanks Roger. Now I'm crying at work!
I think that the reason goodness moves us in films is two-fold: one, obviously, because it stirs warm feelings in us, like most generous acts around Christmastime do. But also because it shows us an action or state of being that we would like to achieve. We want to also be that good. We like to think that we're open-minded enough to accept Charlie Chaplin as the Tramp, even after we've regained our sight. We want to think we're good enough to transform ourselves from a callous businessman to the selfless savior of thousands of concentration camp prisoners. We want to think that we are capable of loving, forgiving, sacrificing and gentleness.
When I watched "Cinderella Man," I cried not because of Braddock's success story, but because of the innate goodness of the man and the realization that I wished I had the courage to be that honest and kind.
USA 4 - USSR 3
Some folks have mentioned the scene in "The Royal Tenenbaums" when Ben Stiller's character forgives his father, which is indeed a moving scene. But I think the part of that movie that uses elevation even better came at the very end. After the forgiven Royal has died (of a heart attack) the family attends his funeral and as they file out the audience finally glimpses his tombstone, which reads "Died tragically rescuing his family from the remains of a destroyed sinking battleship."
That part really gets me and makes me laugh, smile, and well up at the same time. It's the funniest moment in what I think is a very funny film, but for me that's the moment that really captures the goodness that Royal is capable of despite his sometimes despicable acts (the same could be said for the family members that came together around him).
What a wonderful topic! As I've grown older and since I stopped drinking 8 years ago, I've had more and more of these moments of elevation in the movies and in real life -- usually evoked by ordinary people doing extraordinary things, such as reclaiming their lives from addiction and chaos.
In all the movies I've watched and re-watched, I can't think of a more courageous character than Jane Alexander in "Testament".
Ebert: "Testament" made my best 10 list that year, but you rarely hear it mentioned. A mighty experience.
By Peret on January 15, 2009 7:05 AM[BOLD]
"The film that get me every single time, and I've watched it a hundred times just so I can experience that moment again is Field of Dreams. "Hey...Dad? Wanna have a catch?" It is almost a pavlovian response now."
Peret nailed my number one tear-jerking moment. I think most men relish those times when we were boys and the moment is awash with sentimentality. I agree with George H.W. Bush that I have no idea what the movie is "about" (other than to say it is surreal).
As an aside, I took my then 5 and 3 year old boys to see "The Wiggles" live in Scranton, PA. We didn't tell them where we were going and they had no clue even when we were in the stadium. When The Wiggles were introduced, I welled up like Niagara Falls. I was so excited for my kids. As it turned out, my 5 year old hated the concert because it was too loud, and my youngest hated it because it was too dark. And I cried. A 33 year old grown man crying over four Australian guys wearing bright red, yellow, blue and purple shirts and singing about Dorothy the Dinosaur and Wags the Dog. So, thanks Roger. Now I have an excuse for it.
I agree with the poster's comment about "Saving Private Ryan." I think it is the most applicable film for elevation that I have ever seen. There are moments of incredible agony, death, destruction, and misery. But those parts are not what I cry at. I agree with Chris's moment at the end when Ryan asks his wife if he is a good man and has led a good life. It is an incredibly moving moment and is inspiring just in the fact that the question could weigh so heavily on a man his whole life. The other moment is before the bridge defense, when Ryan is describing memories of his brothers exploits before they went off to war. He is laughing at the retelling and the good times and there is sudden realization that they are all gone. It is not that his brothers died that makes me cry. It is the wonderful love of family that had and still will unite them. I can watch the movie a thousand times and still well up at those scenes.
By Peret on January 15, 2009 7:05 AM
"The film that get me every single time, and I've watched it a hundred times just so I can experience that moment again is Field of Dreams. "Hey...Dad? Wanna have a catch?" It is almost a pavlovian response now."
Peret nailed my number one moment from film which gets me. I think most men relish those times when we were boys and the moment is so awash with sentimentality. I agree with George H.W. Bush that I have no idea what the movie is "about" (other than to say it is surreal).
As an aside, I took my then 5 and 3 year old boys to see "The Wiggles" live in Scranton, PA. We didn't tell them where we were going and they had no clue even when we were in the stadium. When The Wiggles were introduced, I welled up like Niagara Falls. I was so excited for my kids. As it turned out, my 5 year old hated the concert because it was too loud, and my youngest hated it because it was too dark. And I cried. A 33 year old grown man crying over four Australian guys wearing bright red, yellow, blue and purple shirts and singing about Dorothy the Dinosaur and Wags the Dog. So, thanks Roger. Now I have an excuse for it.
I'm so glad you wrote this Roger. 'Elevation'. At last my feeling has a name. I've been wracking my brain for my most elevation-ist viewing experience. One kept popping into my head, but I was sure it was wrong. There's a scene in 'Wives and Daughters' in which the Squire (Michael Gambon)cries over a death.
I kept thinking 'that can't be it'. I mean, it isn't uplifting really, it's quite a sad scene. Being a crier, I sort of sob along, but there's that warm tingly thing happening too. It's a perfect storm, there's the emotion that's in the scene, the utter empathy displayed by another character, which is in itself, very uplifting. And there's the thing outside of the story; deep admiration, gratitude and joy at Gambon's performance.
It's a little schizophrenic, so I'm hoping others have similar dual experiences. There are times where we're by the moment in the story and also by the artistry which crafted the moment. Like the scene in 'Swept From the Sea' (thank you for that recommendation, btw) when Ian McKellan shows up at Rachel Wiesz's door. I totally sobbed. But at the same time, I'm going 'oh my gosh that is such a great shot' and I get tingly. It's wonderful.
My most recent moment--well, moments, came during a viewing of Poliakoff's 'Friends and Crocodiles' it definitely had that whole art/story duality going on.
Elevation (some spoilers, but they don't mean much out of context):
THE GAME, the "whump" of Nicholas hitting the airbag as glass rains down around him, and the next shot as we see the big X marking the spot...
THE BURMESE HARP, Mizushima's friends reading his letter over a shot of the endless open sea...
RUSHMORE, any scene with Max's father, so note-perfectly interpreted by Seymour Cassel that I can't think of a more touching "father figure" in all the films I've seen (and I've seen a lot)...
BLUE GATE CROSSING, the graffiti in the very last shot - "I was here!"...
THE APARTMENT, the last few minutes but *especially* CC Baxter's dumbfounded grin as he says "I'm fine all over"...
THEY LIVE BY NIGHT, whenever Bowie does something that makes Keechie's face light up, if only for a moment (how come nobody remembers Cathy O'Donnell? she's so heartbreakingly good in this)...
STOP MAKING SENSE, "This Must Be the Place" - "Feet on the ground, head in the sky, it's okay, I know nothing's wrong..."
THE IRON GIANT, "Superman"...
BREAKING THE WAVES, "Everyone says that I love you too much and if you found out how much I loved you, you might get upset because we’re not together right now"...
BUFFALO '66, "That's very nice, a heart cookie - who thought of the heart?" "I don't know - somebody who was romantic"...
JOE VERSUS THE VOLCANO, "Thank you for my life...I forgot how big..."
BE KIND REWIND (of all things), Jerry crying unobtrusively in the background and he watches Fats Waller's death scene...
And finally, meta-elevation:
HANNAH AND HER SISTERS, Mickey finding a reason to live in the faces of the Marx Brothers: "And then, I started to sit back, and I actually began to enjoy myself."
Ebert: Also in "Hannah," when Michael Caine says to himself, "I've got my answer!"
Really good post.
My dad read your review of Field of Dreams about 20 years ago and took me and my brothers to see it. I didn't appreciate it until I had lost someone.That scene where Ray Cansella asks his father if he wants to "have a catch" just overwhelms me with emotion every time I see it.
Ray did exactly as he was told by the voices not realizing what was in it for him. I would gladly give a year of my life to have a five-minute catch with the person I'm thinking about.
People beat me to the punch by mentioning Dead Man Walking. Sister Helen Prejean was more christlike in that movie than any other character I've ever seen in a movie. Her character made me stop believing in the death penalty.
Sometimes, these little Elevations are the only decent parts of otherwise bad movies. It sounds like Last Chance Harvey is a film that might work like this, although you're a bit kinder than many other critics have been. I wonder if that's because you value the Elevation enough to allow it to influence your reviews? Napoleon Dynamite has one of those moments in it. I didn't like ND while watching it the first time, esp. because it seems to be too obsessed with the stupidity of its characters to ever allow the audience to empathize with them, but during the pre-end credits montage, I felt strangely moved by everything I was seeing. Here was the film giving the characters a chance to breathe -- to be "real" for a little while instead of things to move the plot/idea along: guitar strumming, no dialogue (for the most part), and a lot of connecting. Too bad the film spoils the whole damned thing with the post-credits sequence, where the "aren't we clever and aren't these people weird?!" theme comes back to haunt us.
Another example is Bill Forsythe's Being Human, which rarely works at all during most of its runtime, except for a few scenes where Anna Galiena is absolutely lovable. The end is the "modern tale", where Williams has his two kids for a weekend visit, and he's trying to reconnect. He takes them to an amusement park, but it's too grey out to be enjoyed. At the end, they finally connect ("ONLY CONNECT!") and the older girl tells Willams that he needs to stop worrying about whether or not things will work out, because you'll miss your life going by as you worry. So he stops, and the film pulls back to a wide shot of the beach at night, their campfire burning, waves crashing against the shore, and Forsythe holds it for a couple minutes, to allow us the opportunity to bask in the minute. It's such a nice moment that it made me like the film , and I saw it once more to see if it worked. Nope. Except for the last scene.
Otherwise, the film Fandango, with Kevin Costner and Judd Nelson, probably makes me "Elevate" the most. It's a nice, low budget coming-of-age film involving four guys driving around West Texas to celebrate/prepare the rest of their lives, some of which will involve going to Vietnam. At the end, Judd and the guy who's given him the most s**t throughout the movie stand alone as all their friends have taken off, and share a moment: "Take care, friend." "Have a nice life." The film may not be the best one ever made, but the ending is one of my favorites, as these two friends acknowledge their affection and realize they will never see each other again.
I know exactly what you mean. The best example I can think of is a recent film: Dear Zachary. Sure, I shed a few tears at all the sad moments (especially the BIG sad moment), but it was the ending, when it suddenly becomes about the two parents and how they are such wonderful people, that had me sobbing uncontrollably.
The last bit from "In the Name of the Father", from where Gerry Conlin, as a free man, walks out the front door, through his speech where he vows to fight on until his father is proven innocent, always gets me.
The "Field of Dreams" scenes previously mentioned are also pretty good at getting me worked up.
I think I have some sort of Dad issue.
I'm an emotional person, and I am strongly affected by uplifting moments, so much so that I will avoid some movies just because I know I'll be a complete wreck by the end. I mean, just the thought of those selfless passengers of United 93 fills my eyes with tears - how would I endure an entire movie? Still, I am aware that I need these moments, if only to release the hope and joy that normally stays buried within my heart. Sometimes it's a movie, sometimes it's a song, but it's always something that leaves me in awe.
It's Joe Banks, kneeling on a makeshift raft of his four massive suitcases, confronted by the biggest rising moon you've ever seen, and he says, "Dear God, whose name I do not know... thank you for my life. I forgot how BIG... thank you. Thank you for my life."
It's Willy Wonka, closing his hand around the Everlasting Gobstopper that Charlie Bucket has just returned, saying, "So shines a good deed in a weary world."
It's Diane Court and Lloyd Dobler, sitting together in an airplane; she says, "Nobody thinks it will work, do they?" and he replies, "No. You just described every great success story."
It's Paden and Stella, drinking the good stuff at a table in the Midnight Star, and Stella says, "Cobb's using me to stop you. So good people are being hurt because of me. That makes me mad."
It's Gordie and Chris, making a stand against Ace and his gang; Ace asks, "What are you gonna do, shoot us all?" and Gordie replies, "No, Ace. Just you."
With each moment, the wellspring of emotion is accompanied by an intense desire to be the kind of person who could say those things, who could make those decisions, who could shine so brightly when the light is needed most. Maybe that's what is meant when we talk about hope; the hope that we can measure up to the best of us when the time comes.
A terrific movie from 1982 that seems to be long forgotten is "Without A Trace" starring Kate Nelligan and Judd Hirsch. The last 15 minutes or so of that movie makes me cry hard and I am not a parent so I can imagine what parents would feel. It starts when Judd Hirsch is talking to a crippled woman trying to establish where her caregiver Hank is and the woman just won't listen. Hirsch finally screams "I said 'Where is Hank?'" and the look of disgust on his face says it all. Then you have the long drive with dozens of police cars with sirens wailing away under the beautiful Jack Nitzche musical score that leads to a moment of pure cinematic beauty. Just thinking about it makes me emotional.
Elevation! What a marvelous concept.
May I add Clint Eastwood's underrated "Changeling" to the list. A serious film with several moments of elevation. The one that got me most was when Angelina Jolie tells the psychiatrist what to do with his horse!
Thanks again for your wonderful blog Mr. Ebert.
While Roberto Begnini's Life Is Beautiful may not play fair, neither did the Nazis. The father is unbearably good; my head swims just thinking about it.
The end of Paths of Glory: For one brief minute, everyone sees and accepts their goodness--but also their situation, which denies them any opportunity to employ that goodness.
Anthony Hopkins' C.S. Lewis in Shadowlands confidently announces his conviction that suffering is "God's megaphone to rouse a deaf world," then has to endure a good blast of it, with Debra Winger (there she goes again) not only his test but his guide along the road to elevation.
And thanks to those who mentioned Ikiru--and let's not forget Kurosawa's Akahige/Read Beard, in which the young, cocky doctor learns goodness from Toshiro Mifune--gruff, matter-of-fact, quietly heroic, a swordless samurai whose code of compassion forces tears of joy.
Elevation overtakes me-
a wonderful feeling
so odd for one afraid of heights
i try to hide the tears sometimes
because people react with concern
while i savour the moment that was
nothing tastes better than liberated tears
Babe - "That'll do pig, that'll do"
The moment from "Royal Tenenbaums" that always, always, always gets me is toward the end of the movie -- Royal and the grandsons are once again hitching a ride on the back of a garbage truck, and then we see that Chazz has joined them -- it's such a simple, wonderful moment that sums up the forgiveness and acceptance that must have happened between father and son.
The first time I watched "Superman: The Movie" after Christopher Reeve's death I started sobbing when Reeve made his first appearance as Superman. It was now impossible to separate the role from the character, and I cried for his bravery and his courage, and, oh, oh, how I believed that man could fly...
The feeling I get at the end of Brian's song. When Gaik Sayers and Brian Piccolo are running the music starts and the narrater says this not about how he dies but how he lived. I was 12 yrs old when I watched that movie and still feel it every time I see it.
I have a question, Roger, because this visceral effect is one of the things I look for before I will call a movie "great." My question is: did you feel this sort of effect the first time (or any of the other ninety-nine or so times) that you watched Citizen Kane, your allegedly favorite movie? If so, when during the movie did you feel this?
Ebert: Mr. Bernstein's memory of the girl with the white parasol.
Gibson's homer
"Powerful moments of elevation..."
Crikey. Scientists and bureaucrats. Never use a nickel word when a four-bit one will do. The word is "joy."
Confining to movie response, I think this theory of vagus is much too belittling. Elevation is not a single thing, it's a myriad faceted capacity of the instrument that is our mind, our heart, our soul to play out an endless range of melodies. Since body and mind are two faces of the same reality, naturally the physiological correlates must be as varied.
Some examples; the flag dance of the red guards in Last Emperor , the train racing towards the Urals in Zhivago ,the Raging Bull swaggers into the arena as the bulbs crack…….
Surely our inner world remains the least explored or understood of terrains.
Nichiren Daishonin (1222-1281) writes
“This is like lotus flowers, which turn as the sun does, though the lotus has no mind to direct it, or like the plantain that grows with the rumbling of thunder, though this plant has no ears to hear it.”
Love Actually. Yes, it's rather a glib film, but the airport scenes at the end get the waterworks going every time. All those mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, lovers, friends... My 22 year old son needs only hear the theme (Glasgow Love Theme) from this movie to get teary.
Mine have to be the final moments of "City Lights" and the final moments of "2001: A Space Odyssey" which is more of an elevation in a literal sense.
Chariots of Fire. The soundtrack is one of the best-known in film history - and the contrast of Eric Liddell with Harold Abrahams is overwhelming. "I know God made me for a purpose, but He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel his pleasure."
It's a Wonderful Life. The whole movie is about the impact a good man can make.
The Guardian. Not my favorite movie, but the ending really moved me.
Into the Wild. "But when you forgive, you love. And when you love, God's light shines through you." In the end in his own imagination, he runs to embrace his parents, and light shines down on him.
Every episode I've ever seen of the A&E show, Intervention, has brought me to tears, sometime even causing me to weep. Nothing does it to me like that show: seeing a life destroyed, the impact of addiction on loved ones, and the possibility of turn around - a person returning from the very throes of death.
"October Sky" - when Miss Riley sees the last rocket from her hospital bed.
"Waking Ned Devine" - when they toast Ned from the cliff.
"Saving Private Ryan" - when the present-day Ryan asks his wife if he's a good man.
I would say that 'The smaller they are, the harder we fall.''
That is, big showy (often "fake'') moments -- Rocky beating up a boxer twice his size, Rudy dominating a football game like he's the unnatural spawn of Butkus and Jim Brown, even the classic sacrifice made in Casablanca -- are "stagey'' and maybe don't touch us as deeply and sincerely as the tiny moments that evoke something for us, something real, something we've experienced.
(I guess I should quit with the "we'' and just say this is "me,'' eh?)
In "Doubt,'' when someone opened the big wooden arched church doors, I got shivers -- I'VE opened that door.
In "The Reader,'' when the kid is completely befuddled at the disappearance of a girlfriend he thought was devoted to him -- that was ME.
In "Boy In The Stripped Pajamas,'' it's not just the huge finish that gets me. ... it's the little stuff. ... the looks in the eyes of two lonely little boys who want friendship. Like ME.
It's no great trick, I don't think, to get an audience to stand and cheer or to bawl and clap when Will Smith saves the planet. The greater trick comes in, say, "The Color Purple,'' where two hours of tiny gestures have your heart cheering and bawling over the course of the entire experience.
Roger, I'm assuming every filmmaker understands this, right? That they purposely stick a couple of these moments into every movie, so we even feel some sort of human connection with, say, "Max Payne''?
I would have liked join the people onscreen in standing and proclaiming that "I am Malcolm X", but I was too choked up.
Thanks Roger for this great post. I too, have often felt this transcendent emotion during movies and I'm glad you were able to pin it down.
I don't know if anyone mentioned this one yet, but the movie and scene that gives me the biggest spine tingling is Field of Dreams when Kevin Costner's character "Ray" plays catch with his deceased father. Empathy and a feeling of renewed love shoots through me and I definitely feel what you describe as "elevation". And since my father passed away a year back, this feeling has only intensified.
Thanks again for the post.
Roger,
You summed up a feeling that has been inside of me for many years; and is the reason I will forever be a film-lover. This feeling (welling-up of tears, lump in throat, tingle down spine, etc...) has happened to me on numerous occasions and almost exclusively after viewing a great film (though certain books have done this as well, Suttree the most recent example).
These films aren't necessarily sad, as you mention, rather a culmination of a great story, great film-making, identifiable characters and situations. A few recent examples for me:
- Pan's Labyrinth: Ofelia's father welcoming her to the seat next to his throne for choosing to sacrifice herself. Beautiful conclusion to one of my all-time favorite films.
- Juno: Juno and Bleeker on the steps in front of his house singing a duet together... hoping, wishing and secretly knowing that they will be together for the rest of their lives. This unbroken shot gets me every time I watch it; I'm smiling and crying at the same time. If ever there were tears of joy, it is surely here.
- No Country For Old Man: the final scene where a defeated and dejected Ed Tom Bell is sitting with Loretta at the table describing his dreams from the night before; about meeting up with his long dead father on the range, his dad carrying the fire to keep him warm when he comes to join him. Fade to black.
Chris
Ebert: "No Country" isn't thought of as an uplifting movie, but the characters are so intensely human (or inhuman) that it always envelops me.
Mr. Ebert,
Thanks very much for the article. That tingle down my spine, the tears in my eyes, the profound knot in my stomach; these are the reasons why I love movies, and why theaters have always been a kind-of church for me.
Although I'm motivated to put forth a pretty extensive list of flicks that have shook my proverbial foundation over a lifetime, I must say that no recent film has mixed such a deep sense of sadness and Elevation than Sarah Polley's beautifully sublime "Away from Her". Grant's transformation from self-centered, co-dependent partner to a willing facilitator of Fiona's relationship with Aubrey reduced me to a blubbering mess. I've only seen the film once, but the experience was so powerful that I can remember where I was sitting in the theater, the lights coming up, the air as I hit the sidewalk beneath the marquee, and the overwhelming desire to wrap my arms around my wife and not let go for days. This is what the soul of a great film feels like, looks like, smells like to me.
Thanks again for your words,
David
The one movie I haven't seen mentioned here is "I Am Sam" with Sean Penn.Let me preface this with the fact that my son is learning disabled and I've always pretty much assumed that I knew what he was going through. That being said the scene that uplifted me in knowlege and empathy was when his lawyer was speaking to him through the curtain and essentially says to him "You have to keep trying" and Sam gets very angry and says to her "I try and I try and I try but I can't be like you." That moment in the movie made me realize that I actually know nothing about what my son is going through on a daily basis. That movie for me was an eye opener and in it's own way was very uplifting for me and helped me open my eyes to what I thought I understood what my son's daily life and proved to me that I have no earthly idea what he really goes through daily.
OK, just thought of another big "elevation" movie moment for me. The end of "Planes, Trains and Automobiles" when Steve Martin's character brings John Candy's character home for thanksgiving. While Steve's character is re-united with his family, John Candy squeezes his hat, seemingly yearning for his late wife while at the same time grateful for his new friend's generosity. And that smile of his during the very last shot gets me every time. As you described, it's a scene of people "giving themselves up... to care for others." That good feeling reaches me deep down inside.
Ebert: Yes. It's in my Great Movies collection. We watch it every Thanksgiving.
Watching Joan Benoit Samuelson go through the tunnel and enter the stadium at the end of the 1984 Olympic marathon. It gave me the goose-bump thing and inspired me to train for and run the 1985 Chicago Marathon.
I loved this post. I have long felt that the best way to experience joy was in large groups of people who are all also feeling it – but I never realized, until reading this, that it’s also a big reason (among a great many others) why I prefer to watch films in a movie theatre. I used to think it was mostly about the opportunity to be completely immersed into the world of the film (something far harder to achieve when watching a DVD at home); I now realize it’s actually also very much about the shared experience in an audience. I guess this is why I really like to see highly anticipated movies on opening night, when there is the most to offer in shared excitement!
I know you run a blog about the movies, and yet, since this entry is about "elevation"...I've experienced it many times in the movies, yes, and at many of the scenes mentioned above.
The most extraordinary sense of elevation I ever experienced was in an episode of Joan of Arcadia called "The Uncertainty Principle." God directs Joan to ask a social outcast / nerd to the prom, she is nice to him, but then the school's vice-principal taunts and torments him and he flees in anguish. Joan goes after him and stops him as he is about to commit suicide. Later, back in the halls of the high school, she asks God "why?" and in a very matter-of-fact voice, God replies "the vice-principal would have been his first victim....then that girl over there..." Just writing about it now I have tears streaming down my cheeks.
One of the precious, enduring theme of that wonderful show was "ripples", of how a simple act of kindness can have tremendous side effects afterward, rippling outward into a sea of goodwill.
I know basketball isn't the subject here but.... The first time the name Michael Jordan came to my attention was on a Saturday afternoon when he made some amazing last minute shot to beat the Pistons in a 1989 play-off game and my favorite show, Siskel & Ebert, which was shown on cable TV here in Mexico (and transmitted from a Chicago station) was canceled as the Chicago channel wouldn't stop the transmission of the game, much to my dismay. By 1998 (not 1997) when he won that game against the Jazz his shirts could be found everywhere down here (pirate copies, at least). Then he retired and nobody's given a damn about basketball since then. I guess that was Jordan's power of elevation (and the lack of, subsequently).
Many movies have affected me in the way you describe, but only one had a tear rolling down my cheek and neck, which I didn't wipe as to avoid attention: The Passion of the Christ and it was a scene where the Virgin Mary wipes Christ's blood from the floor. Then again, before the movie started some people entered the theater with their usual gigantic containers of popcorn and soda which means, I guess, different people are elevated by different things.
Ebert: The candy at movies is usually stuff identified with kids. I wonder if people eat it to help them revert to a more juvenile, orally-gratified, receptive state for the movie? You rarely see adults eating licorice rope in the outside world.
The scene in the movie A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, when Francie graduates. She receives the flowers her father bought for her before he died. She is taken into a private room and bursts into tears, along with me.
The scene in the movie A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, when Francie graduates. She receives the flowers her father bought for her before he died. She is taken into a private room and bursts into tears, along with me.
Hi Roger,
I'm loving your Scorsese book! The two scenes that always get to me are the farewell in the car between Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday, then the "Dad, you wanna have a catch?" scene in Field of Dreams. The Marsellaise scene from Casablanca also strikes a chord...
Ebert: I'm not keeping count, but among the most-mentioned films so far seem to be "Royal Tenenbaums," "It's a Wonderful Life," "WALL-E," "Field of Dreams," "Casablanca" and "Saving Private Ryan."
Two great examples of elevation at the end of two great films:
1) At the end of You Can Count on Me, when Sammy and Terry are sitting at the bus stop. Sammy, afraid she'll never see Terry again, begins to cry and begs him to stay. Terry tells her he'll be OK and that he'll be back again soon, and then says, "Remember what we used to say to each other when we were kids?" (They don't say what it used they used to say, but the audience knows exactly what it is.)
2) That sublime, final scene in Big Night, when Secondo makes the omelette. Primo comes in and sits down to eat, and Secondo puts his arm around him. Not a word is exchanged. Perfect.
I was going back through the comments and I read Burcu's statement that, "I think the reason goodness affects us all is the fact that we are all very much capable of cruelty, and yet still some people do the right thing."
I agree. I used to think kindness and mercy were commonplace. As I grow older and more accustomed to stories of cruelty in the news on a daily basis, I think compassion is rare and to be treasured when encountered.
It's true what Willy Wonka said, paraphrasing Shakespeare, "So shines a good deed in a weary world."
In "Slingblade" when Carl gives his sole possessions, his books, to the little boy, Frank. Inside of one of the books is a bookmark where Carl has written "You Will Be Happy". At that point you know that Carl is going to do something to get that monster, Frank's mother's cruel boyfriend Doyle, out of Frank's life and that Carl will either give up his own life or go back to the asylum for doing it.
Roger,
Rather than endorse many of the superb film moments mentioned already or add my own to the list, I'll digress a bit:
I am surprised and disappointed to see no mention in Yoffe's entire article of Maslow and his notion of "peak experiences," a positive emotion similar to "elevation." (I don't like either term, to be honest, though I cannot think of a better one. C.S. Lewis's "Joy" is not perfect either, and he used it in a somewhat different, rarer context, but it works for me.) Maslow supposed that such self-transcendent emotions lie beyond even self-actualization in his hierarchy of needs. Surely Keltner is familiar with classic work done in his own field four decades ago.
I question, too, the hypothesis that this emotion is most powerfully felt in groups or that it is strictly an adaptation of natural selection, Darwinian or otherwise. (If it is evolutionary at all, I think it likely a Gould-Lewontinian spandrel instead.)
Consider, for example, your wanting to be left alone in your reverie after viewing a wonderful film. I am the same way. This feeling seems different in kind, not merely degree, from the elation the masses felt and reinforced on each other in Grant Park. Both might be peak experiences, but I don't think they can be explained the same way.
Like you, I also find that I am sent into such reveries more often in theaters than when viewing films on DVD. Yet I wonder if this has more to do with the larger screen, better sound and picture, and ambiance than it does the fact of viewing the film with other people around.
For instance, would one be just as likely to have reveries in a theater if watching a film alone or with only a handful of other people scattered throughout the seats? I suspect the human element plays a minor role, but perhaps mostly because we only imagine the person sitting next to us, whether a loved one or stranger, is feeling the same thing we are about what we just experienced. Talking about these feelings is great, indeed human, but sometimes it disappoints, too. As another great humanistic writer put it:
Cheers,
Dan
Ebert: I was reminded of William James' On the Variety of Religious Experience, where he suggests that ecstatic feelings related to this explains religious conversion and the notion of being "born again." When strong emotions well up in a determination to remake our lives, we reach out to those things already familiar to us for a template. Some find politics, some find religion, some find a desire to succeed, and so on. We attribute our conversion to the template, instead of looking for the cause within ourselves.
I agree with the posters who are moved by the sheer artistry and power of certain images in films - the star child in 2001, the look on Stewart's face when Kim Novak comes out of the bathroom in Vertigo, the daughter-in-law's radiant smile as she confirms that life is disappointing in Tokyo Story, the trip down the river in Night of the Hunter, pretty much everything by Mizoguchi. That feeling of transcendence, of witnessing true greatness, moves me to tears more often than emotional stories.
Secretariat's Belmont gets me every time. But for me nothing tops that moment during the olympics a few years back when that long distance runner collapsed in the final turn and his father ran out of the stands, swept him up in his arms, and helped him across the finish line.
Ebert: There are so many things going through Scotty's mind in that scene from "Vertigo." And then, when he recognizes the pendant, so many more. Hitchcocks' greatest.
I agree with the posters who are moved by the sheer artistry and power of certain images in films - the star child in 2001, the look on Stewart's face when Kim Novak comes out of the bathroom in Vertigo, the daughter-in-law's radiant smile as she confirms that life is disappointing in Tokyo Story, the trip down the river in Night of the Hunter, pretty much everything by Mizoguchi. That feeling of transcendence, of witnessing true greatness, moves me to tears more often than emotional stories.
Secretariat's Belmont gets me every time. But for me nothing tops that moment during the olympics a few years back when that long distance runner collapsed in the final turn and his father ran out of the stands, swept him up in his arms, and helped him across the finish line.
The movie "Once" has a number of spots like that. The guy teaching the girl the sone in the music shop. The scene in the studio where the engineer realizes that he is recording something good. The end scene when the piano is delivered to the girl's apartment and the camera pans out from outside the windows as she stops playing for a second to look out the window.
The Man Who Would Be King - the final scene on the bridge, where Sean Connery apologizes to Michael Cain for being a fool. And Michael Cain forgiving him. Again, as Mr. Ebert points out, its not necessarily the death, but the display of tenderness between friends and the forgivness that tears me up.
Side note - there is something horrifying in the sloppy hacking at the ropes, the lingering moment of inevitibility, that reminds me of the ignominious kicking of the chair out of Ralph Fiennes feet in Schindler's List. Both take longer than you would expect in a movie, though as long as one would expect in real life.
Damn. I should have read the other tags before mentioning Field of Dreams. Feel free to dump my first post.
This is one of the best things you have written, Roger Ebert.
At the end of our idiotic high-stakes standardized testing week I give our students a break and let them watch either The Black Stallion or The Karate Kid. They are mesmerized by the water scene in the Black Stallion when Alex finally gets on the horse, but elevated by the final scene in The Karate Kid. I've shown that movie many times in class and have never shown it to a bunch of kids who didn't wind up cheering and clapping at the end. I still get the lift, too.
I don't mind sharing that the same feeling happened for me when President -Elect Obama walked out on the stage less than 100 miles from where I was walking. It just felt so...right. Like we had elected the right person to lead us for the first time in a long time. Like I had finished a marathon. Or seen "Saving Private Ryan" for the first time. Or met Elvis.
Public schools took big hits the last eight years. I teach in a Title 1 school, which means a large majority of my students are at, near, or below the poverty level. Its poor people without portfolios that get hit the hardest during hard times.
Everybody's waiting with anticipation until Tuesday. Was this what Beatlemania was like? It wasn't like this when Bill Clinton was elected.
I'm on my lunch break now, and the atmosphere is electrified here. All my students: red and yellow, black and white (they're so precious in his sight) are excited about Tuesday. I have been lifted just writing this.
Ebert: I placed "The Black Stallion" first and "Raging Bull" second on my best 10 list that year. I've since said I wish I had reversed them, but I agree "Thee Black Stallion" is a magnificent, underrated film.
Sometimes the backstory is just as critical as the work. Every time I hear the last movement of Beethoven's 9th, I think of the unbroken line of people working together over many years to bring me a transcendent work of art. A deaf composer struggling against his own isolation working from a poem about the brotherhood of man; that first performance where he couldn't hear the applause; the musicians training since childhood; the teachers passing down knowledge from generation to generation; the patrons funding the orchestras; the singers whose voices demonstrate that brotherhood; even the printers who have reproduced the score year after year. The final performance is the key to unlock all those associations and more. (Even writing this I feel a tightening below my eyes...)
(As for movies, for me it is "Truly Madly Deeply" - profound acting in a story about a man whose love for a woman is so deep that he comes back as a ghost to free her by destroying her memories of him.)
Thank you for this post. Now I have a word to explain how I feel when I see a truly amazing movie. I usually can only compare it to falling in love.
I defintely felt that way when I saw Wall-e, which is probably why it is my favorite film of the year. The first time I saw Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet I felt it, and I have been a fan of his ever since. I also felt it when I saw The Departed and was so elated at how amazing it was that I watched all of Scorsese's films within the next few months. (BTW, thank you for your wonderful book. I am almost finished and have enjoyed it immensely)
I also agree with you that it is the little moments in movies that prove to be my undoing. Everytime I watch the sequence when Wall-e shows Eve all of his treasured possessions, my eyes well with tears.
People sometimes wonder why I watch so many movies, but the reason is that this feeling is so fantastic that I just have to keep looking for it.
- The whole of the last installment of "Scenes from a Marriage."
- Other people mentioned "United 93" as well, which I'm convinced over time will be revisited and given its due. The last scene, of course, is shattering and uplifting at the same time. (John Powell's score stands on its own beautifully, and the child's singing in the coda choked me up the first time I heard it.)
- The moment in "Ali: Fear Eats the Soul" when Ali reaches out and begins stroking the scrubwoman's arm.
Ebert: She loves him so proudly, and he is so lonely.
My fiance and I nearly lost it while sitting in a crowded theater watching Wall-E this summer, particularly the wordless sequence in which he dutifully cares for Eve (the iPod robot) and festoons her with christmas lights.
I also have to second an earlier commenter about the last moments of Magnolia...Melora Walters smile just before the final cut kills me every time.
Love the post, Roger. I have the same tendency...there is so much horror in our world. We're bombarded day and night with bad news. But, humans are amazing - capable of unbearable horrors and also unbelievable acts of selflesness and love. I always appreciate a movie - or a politician - (or a film critic!) that seeks to remind us of the beauty and potential for goodness that we have and inspires us to live it out.
Anyhow, this post is starting to sound hokey! Among my favorite such films are "The Shawshank Redemption" "Schindlers List" "Life is Beautiful" "Slingblade" "Billy Elliot" and "Hotel Rwanda"...I was moved more by the goodness demonstrated in these films than by the sadness of horror of some of them. And, lame as it sounds, also Disney's Mulan - when she returns home and presents her father with her trophies...He casts them aside, embraces her and tells her that the only thing that he is proud of is that she is his daughter.
Well, my best to you this new year, Roger.
I didn't cry at "Million Dollar Baby" but I found myself sheding tears thinking about it some time afterwards. Not at Maggie dying or becoming paraplegic, as horrifying as that was, but at the thought of how much Frank loved her.
Like you, I'm not a weeper and I very rarely ever lose it at movies. The number of times I've trully cried at the movies can be counted on one hand. Unlike you, I can be moved to tears by sadness, by depictions of pain, by misery, by miracles occurring, by "cute moments", by romance and other emotions.
Thank you Roger, for finally giving a name to the reason i love movies. For the longest time i enjoyed movies, but i did not love them nearly to the degree to which i do now. I think my first completely honest experience with "elevation" happened during the final park scene in "Ikiru." I felt my emotions building the entire time the main character was giving himself away, but they did not come to a head until the very end. After the film was over i sat there in disbelief at the way the movie had made me feel.
Ever since this first experience i have seen myself become more and more open to the emotion of "elevation" and I've seen my self truly grow as a person. My capacity for empathy, hope, and love feel tippled since I first began touching my capacity for elevation.
This emotion has now even bled into music. I am not sure if you have ever heard of the band "Neutral Milk Hotel" or their album "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea," but the entire feel of the album encompasses the climax of elevation.
If i had to conclude anything from my experiences it is that art is able to move human beings towards good. Art is able to touch us and allow us to empathize with others. It is the feeling of elevation and empathy that art brings to us, and that is why, to me, art is the most human of all things in this world.
The breakfast scene in Revolutionary Road, with April trying so hard to give Frank what he needed, and Frank being so grateful, and yet so much of it was unspoken. I felt like every nerve ending in my face was going off at once when, teary-eyed, he says "I can't remember a nicer breakfast."
The end of ROCKY, when he's gone the distance and doesn't even listen to the official decision of the winner of the fight (in fact, the film itself doesn't care about the winner). It's mocked so often, but when Rocky calls out for Adrian, the tears go down through the rest of the credits.
But nothing even comes close to the ending of CITY LIGHTS. I don't even want to think about it too much because I'll break down at my desk at work...
Roger,
This has to be one of my favorite threads of yours. One moment of elevation and movement for me was during the poignant scene in 'Sideways' when Miles and Maya are discussing why they enjoy wine so much, and Maya asks Miles why he prefers Pinot noir. Miles explains the many reasons, only to find himself describing his own qualities. It was Maya's response that moved and comforted me; such a loving, caring and brutally honest reply. I noticed you had a similar reaction. Did you experience this feeling of elevation during this particular scene?
Ebert: The heart of the movie.
When you're talking about Elevation, "Leaving Las Vegas" is always the first movie that comes to mind. For me, it's just... the sweetest film ever made. Simultaneously so deeply sad and, yet, so deeply inspiring in that, even in such dark desperation and self-destruction, one can find kindness and be kind... and... have some nicer final days. When people ask me what movies I'd bring along with me to that desert island, I'm always surprised to think: I cannot do without "Leaving Las Vegas".
That movie epitomizes human kindness to me.
Although there are moments between characters in "Monster's Ball" that are similar. I REALLY got into watching movies about two years ago now... and I specifically remember those two movies being some of the main reasons why. The two scenes of Hank and Leticia... out in the truck and then inside talking about the curtains... you can tell what's unsaid and what's really happening. They're really saying "I hurt. I need somebody. Can you be somebody for me right now?"
And then that makes me think of the ending (or, I guess, all throughout) "Synecdoche, New York." And that gets me thinking of "Magnolia"... or the characters in "Barfly". And "Cool Hand Luke" has its elevatory moments. And "Milk" had many, many moments of elevation.
And Spike Lee's "Malcolm X". When that film as over... oh man. That was just... "Munich" was a great, great cry for peace but, by the end of "Malcolm X", felt to me like the whole world had cried for a second. I felt for the man... for all the injustices that drove him to want to fight, for all the brotherhood he saw elsewhere in the world that compelled him to adjust his worldview and approach to change, for how, from start to end, there just seems to be this force beyond him... and, by the time he realizes the peace he wants, it's worn and shot him down. Amongst so much madness, violence, prejudice, he continued to try to understand how we could co-exist. But there's just so much pressure in our world. It's too much for one man to carry.
You know, I think that's maybe what Elevation is. It's when humans share the weight and defy that intangible force pushing down on them for a moment. And maybe that's a bleak way to see life... that there's this hurt always weighing down on us... but maybe that's the realistic way to see it; maybe that's why we need to try and elevate others and appreciate moments of elevation.
I think the most elevatory film I've seen is "The Crying Game". Especially during those early exchanges between Stephen Rea and Forrest Whitaker. I really saw myself feeling the same way as Rea in that position. "I cant kill this guy. I just can't."
Also makes me think of the final act of "Eastern Promises" during which one character will say to another "this is bad for us" and you can feel so much weight lifted.
And, sorry to go on here, but that gets me thinking of Charlie feeling sorry for Johnny Boy in "Mean Streets" and always giving him another, probably undeserved chance. I understand how Charlie could feel sympathy for the guy, knowing the struggles he goes through. Charlie does achieve a sort of greatness in the film I think. Although... maybe he's too kind. But he makes me think of how I couldn't help but feel in the same situation. "I can't not help this guy out. Even if he is doing it to himself..."
And, in another Scorsese film too...
One that I think really flies under the radar.
"Bringing Out the Dead". I know much of the film is black comedy but the gentle and, again, mostly unspoken but always understood relationship between Frank and Mary amongst all the hurt and chaos of the streets, of her father dying, of his job and guilt he feels about it... the film really touches me, especially the exchanges between those two.
And Mary's kindness to Noel.
And the scene between Frank and the drugdealer during his near-death experience...
I don't know how this film isn't considered one of Scorsese's utmost greats.
But that's alright. Main thing is... it moved me so.
The final moments of Frank coming in, them lying down, him just falling asleep, I sit there and think... you know, that's really it. I think that's what we're all looking for. Somebody who can trust to rest our tired head on... because they understand. (Interpret what they understand however it pertains to you.)
Or we want somebody who wants to rest their head on us. Because that's the closest we come to feeling purpose. I really am here making a difference for someone.
And it goes both ways for Frank and Mary in that last scene (and throughout the film). They both provide purpose... they both provide comfort, protection, relief.
And I think it's fitting that I begin and end with a Cage film. Takes a lot of flak nowadays, but the guy has elevated me as much as any other actor.
I've rambled a lot here but I felt like I had to get some of this out there into "one of the great threads" in case it's looked back upon for reference, these films that elevated me will be shared.
I understand you are not a big fan of Zinnemann, but think of the Day of the Jackal, where Fox faces a decision to go on with the mission or to avoid what increasingly seems like certain death. his eyes reflect a fleeting moment of weakness, and then he looks away, having made his decision. what I find so moving about the scene is that the Jackal makes his choice true to the tradition of the warrior. his principles do not allow him to go back at this point. this is a fascinating display of a certain streak of ethics in an otherwise almost one-dimensionally brutal character.
so many other moments of indecision followed by a response to the call of idiosyncratically grasped principles come to mind. Crowe in The Inside Man where he should decide whether to go on with the interview process, Cooper in High Noon looking at the clock, Delon in le Samourai, and my favorite moment comes not in a movie but in a novel: Huck Finn deciding to save his friend and burn in hell for it, don't tell me Eastwood is not directly influenced by this.
Ebert: Never said I didn't like Zinnemann. "Day of the Jackal" is a spellbinder.
Well, I now have tears all down my t-shirt and eyes like boiled beets, so thanks for that, everybody. :)
Some of my moments:
Iron Giant. A freind wanted to see it. I was reluctant, not caring much for animation, but what the hell, okay. I really enjoyed the film, the writing and characters so warm and fully realized, and then, of course, the Giant leaps to save the world, because he wants to choose what he is. Superman.
I burst into tears, full on, smeary faced, racked with sobs tears. It was all the more moving because the reaction seemed to come out of nowhere, but felt fully and totally earned.
Fantasia 2000, Pomp and Circumstance segment.
When Donald finds Daisy after all seems lost, one of my freinds began to snuffle. He glanced over at another friend of ours, waiting to be mocked, only to see him wiping his eyes and nose as well.
Lilo And Stitch.
So many here: Lilo throwing down her grotesque homemade doll after the other kids make fun of her, only to run back and clutch it to her chest in apology.
Lio telling Stitch about her parents death in a car accident: "It was a rainy day... and they went for a drive..." suddenly her earlier contention that a fish she's been feeding "controlls the weather" makes heartbreaking, child-logic sense.
Lio and her sister talking in the hammock about her having to go into foster care. When Tia sings "Aloha"...damnit, I'm crying again!
Stitch leaving Lio in the middle of the night. His cry of "Lost!" pierces the heart.
Ebert: Anyone who remembers Dumbo's mom knows how deeply animation can touch you.
I would have to say the last time I felt elevation was right after Werner Herzog's brilliant "Grizzly Man" ended. It was spontaneous how the emotion came over me. I was deeply touched by the goals that the brave Timothy Treadwell sought to achieve.
Is it possible that the story became even more emotional for me due to Treadwell's death and failure to find harmony between humans and wild animals? Is elevation more effectively present when the character fails in the end or never completes what they had set out to do?
Perhaps I feel most elevation when a character has the will to do something good but faces dire consequences for it. Is failure possibly more elevating than achievement?
Earlier in the thread, Zack B. talked about Elevation being caused by pure movie making.
It's funny, but I always get this feeling watching a particular scene in 2001 A Space Odyssey. During the Dawn of Man sequence, after our earliest ancestor has been "influenced" by the monolith, he is scrounging among animal remains for food. Here, he gets an idea, the thing that lifts him above other animals. In the sequence, Kubrick has a shot of a pure blue sky (our potential?) and shows our ancestor's arm raising up into the shot using an animal bone as a tool/weapon.
It could be the music, as you suggest Roger, but it has always struck me as a beautifully cinematic and elegant way to express a complex idea.
Ebert: "The greatest flash-forward in movie history." Never fails to sock me.
I suspect that the braying laugh or bad joke made by the emotionally clueless viewer is really a deliberate but passive-aggressive attack against something he can't experience and consequently doesn't respect. I say this because my father was like that. He simply could not understand why anyone would enjoy fiction of any kind, since it contained too few all-important facts and too much unimportant and totally worthless emotion. And yes, if he was forced to go to the movies (he normally wouldn't set foot in a theatre) he'd break every emotional mood the audience found themselves experiencing. Asperger's is a hell of a syndrome.
The first movie I cried at was The Maltese Falcon, when Sam Spade decides that his duties to his partner and to justice supersede the love he feels for Brigid O'Shaugnessy. Gets me every time.
This might be my favorite of all your entries. As I got to the end of it, I was sad that it was over, but a lot of these comments have been just as good. Just reading about the things that have Elevated other people... it's Elevating in itself.
I love what you touched on at the end, saying we feel more when we see a movie in a theater with people than we do watching a movie at home by ourselves. One of the best movie experiences I've ever felt came while watching Finding Neverland.
The theater was nearly packed, which I really didn't expect, and it was filled with all kinds of people. There were older couples sitting on either side of me, and the front rows were filled with kids who looked like they were under 10.
When the cast of Peter Pan were giving on the private play for Kate Winslet's character, and the wall pulled back to reveal Neverland... it's hard to find a better suited word than "magical." There was a clearly audible gasp throughout the theater. Not simply one or two people gasping loudly, but nearly everyone in the theater quietly taking air into their lungs, like they were trying to breathe in what they were seeing. It was so drastic I could actually see the audience lift up and lean back in their seats.
It isn't one of my favorite movies, but it's one of my favorite moments. To this day, I have never talked about Finding Neverland without mentioning that scene and that reaction.
I'm glad "The Lives of Others" got a mention. It continues to be my standard for assessing the emotional impact of a movie's ending. I haven't thought about it in years, but Nicolas Cage's dream sequence at the end of "Raising Arizona" always, always caused the tears to well up.
The only movie that made me cry was "My Girl", which you gave 3 1/2 stars. I was about 8 years old and I remember lying on the couch facing the movie and started crying during the credits. My step sister was on the couch behind me and she kind of laughed and said "are you crying"? And I wiped my face and said "no", but it was pretty clear.
There are only two moments where I was really crying in life wiping-tears away and one is when my mom was asking my about my friend that got killed in a car accident. And the other was when we moved and we just abandoned our dog at the house. This dog felt like a gift from God--it was a good listener (rather trained)--and could climb our backyard fence in either direction, using the doorknob from the outside or on the horizontal 2X4's from the inside. I think it is a pretty common thing for this type of dog after seeing it's breed on the Johnny Carson show. http://video.google.com/videosearch?sourceid=navclient&rlz=1T4GPTB_enUS289US289&q=carson%20show%20dog%20climb%20tree&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&tab=wv# . I looked on google next to this Johnny Carson video and there is another dog that also is the same breed that does the same thing. http://video.google.com/videosearch?sourceid=navclient&rlz=1T4GPTB_enUS289US289&q=carson%20show%20dog%20climb%20tree&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&tab=wv#
In, short, people, if you have a backyard or free-roaming area and want to have a tree- climbing dog or fence-climbing dog, get this kind of bull dog you see on these videos.
I was napping in bed waiting for the election results, and awoke feeling Elevation teary-eyed, and I didn't really know exactly why. Now, I know why.
I tend to well up during moments of tenderness or perfect execution--the very first scene of "All the Real Girls" when the two young actors kiss for the first time, and it's followed by establishing shots of the mill town they live in...perfect. (The very end of that film gets me too.)
The end of "Stand by Me" when Dreyfuss is finishing his book.
Forrest Gump's "Is he smart or is he like..", Hanks' delivery is so overwhelming, he can't even voice the final "me."
The scene from "Rushmore" when Bill Murray finally meets Max's father, the barber. The look on Murray's face, when he realizes who this man is, is so warm, so heartbreaking and wise. An adult face. At that moment in the film, ever so briefly, his character becomes an adult. It's simply amazing. (I also agree with the previous poster about the Stiller-Hackman scene in "Tenenbaums," the "I've had a rough year, dad" and "I know you have Chazzy." Beautiful moment.)
The final shot of "Shawshank."
When Cruise and Hoffman gently put their heads together in "Rain Man."
"Say goodbye to Frankie, dad." - "In America"
"Most of us need the eggs," Annie Hall
Tommy Lee Jones' final monologue from "No Country" brought me to tears.
I'll well up at "I used to be afraid of the water," "I can't imagine why," every single time.
Paul Newman's performance in "Nobody's Fool." The whole damn thing.
And, always, tears of joy, whenever I hear the score from the Indiana Jones films.
One of my elevation moments that hasn't been mentioned yet is in "City Slickers". It's the scene when they figured out how to move the cattle in the rain and across the river. There is a moment when they are congratulating each other that always makes me tear up. It's a true joy to be with your best friends and together accomplish something unexpected.
"It's a Wonderful Life" has been mentioned already. You noted "The Shawshank Redemption" in a response to one reader. I thought I'd mention this movie, because on the whole, I don't really like it. But the sequence in which Brooks is released from prison and eventually kills himself is perfect. It's only ten minuets at the most, but it outshines anything else in the whole film.
"E.T." manages to make me cry at the end every time. It amazes me how people underestimate that movie in Spielbergs body of work. As far as I can tell, it's a very personal film for him, and to anyone who's father was absent from their childhood.
I also cry during "The Shop Around the Corner". I can't think of a movie more romantic than that one. The moments of discovery between Alfred and Klara are so pure and beautifully acted.
Oh, and you mentioned sports. I live in Chicago, but grew up just north of Detroit. There are times when I'd love to move back, but jobs are very difficult to come by. But whenever a Detroit sports team wins a championship I'll cry. It's for the city. It's been so downtrodden since the sixties, and every little bit of morale boost helps. Somehow I think some of the athletes who play for those teams understand what it means to the city. The DetroIt Red Wings have been the city's most consistent ray of hope for the past 15 years. Even if they are only a symbol.
In Field of Dreams - when Kevon Costner asks his dad if he wants to have a catch. Gets me evey time.
The clip linked below is known to just about everyone in the UK and Ireland, but I don't believe the show is widely known in the US or elsewhere.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=wml_pynnDBU
That works for me.
My most memorable visceral moment from film comes from the 1991 comedy Father of the Bride. The moment where George Banks is going to give his daughter Annie and her fiance his wedding gift, a cappuccino machine if I remember, but has second thoughts when the groom's parents give them a brand new car.
Annie sees George trying to hide his "lesser" gift and she encourages him to give it to her. She opens it up as he is trying to explain why that is the gift he chose. She silences him saying (paraphrasing) it is exactly what she wanted.
It is the most perfect moment in film history (according to me).
I usually do not tear up during movies. Though I recall a film, specifically a scene, that caused me to breathe with great difficulty and slowly, the tears came. I was surprised, and later when the tears welled up during similar films, I noticed a connecting thread. I first saw "Sounder" (1972) on television during the mid-1970s though was too young to appreciate it. I would rent it years later, and the scene when Nathan (Paul Winfield) returns home, limping across the field towards his wife Rebecca (Cicely Tyson) and his children is one of the most beautiful American scenes ever filmed. I am not a black man, nor did I live in the 1930s, but one does not need to be the characters in a film when it comes to understanding such universal love. "Sounder" is such a beautiful film anyway, but I find it most interesting the scene plays without a single chord of music. I believe it was Akira Kurosawa who once said a truly good scene does not need music.
It's easy to cry when empathy and drama are fed to us courtesy of the thundering chords of a movie composer. But if it is truly a great scene, does it need music? I know people love "The Color Purple," "Saving Private Ryan" and other fine Spielberg films. But I have always thought his use of music (and John Williams is a great, great composer) to be overdone. In all of Spielberg's extraordinary films, his greatest achievement (in my opinion) is his quietest film "Schindler's List" (1993).
For me, the connecting thread appears to be moments that play without music, when the warm truth of life has struck you with a chord all its own.
Ebert: There is a time for silence, and a time for music, and the wise directors and composers always know the difference.
There's an elevation moment in Crash, when Matt Dillon and Thandie Newton have the scene in and outside of the wrecked car( in the other Crash, as in much of Cronenberg, there are lots of delevation moments, which may also be vagally-influenced). Crash is a pretty good movie, but it won for this reason-it wasn't Brokeback Mountain. That last shot of Brokeback,with the two shirts together, is an elevation moment, as is Ledger's entire performance, which reminds me of Von Sydow in A Passion, high praise indeed.
My favorite moment in the movies I've seen is the last two shots of City Lights. It's really the whole sequence, from the moment The Tramp walks out of the prison, because as much of what we aspire to in our hearts of hearts is summed up, with perfect timing and emotional finesse. At the end, as I feel it, The Flower Girl's whole life, up to and after this moment, with all its possibilities, is flashing before her eyes, and she simply doesn't know what she will do. The Tramp, full of happiness and hope, is suspended, like the lover on the Grecian Urn, and Chaplin leaves him, and us, there. Ever will he strive, and she be fair.
The vagus nerve innervates, among other organs, the stomach, stimulating acid secretion.But it also stimulate receptors that may lower the heart rate and blood pressure, among other things. I recently had an elevation towards the end of West Side Story: Natalie Wood's face as she sings Somewhere. It brought me to tears. I've never been so moved by that scene, and I couldn't figure out why it had that effect right then.
I wish I could remember what I was eating: I think it was a Nathan's hot dog, with mustard.
Ebert: And that was real acting, because it was Marnie Nixon's voice.
Spot on!
One time at Boulder you described the physical sensation you get every time you watch "Casablanca", when Rick walks out, says, "Sam, I thought I told you never to play..." and then sees Ilsa. I feel exactly the same thing at the same point. Yes, I can feel the sensation flowing down what we now know to be the vagus nerve, and popping out as goosebumps on my arms.
I think it's partly a viscerally intense reminder of how much we love that scene, and this movie. But it's also an empathic uplift of Rick's personalty -- the instant at which his cold cynicism is breached, and we know (having learned the movie by heart) that this reunion will inevitably lead to the re-emergence of the noble and idealistic Rick.
So many great ones have already been mentioned, but I'll mention the one that I just watched last night, Pleasantville.
Pleasantville is a film I keep returning to, because it is so rich and I get something new out of it every time. Last night, I was elevated by the scene in which Tobey Maguire shows Jeff Daniels' character an art book. Imagine, being in your 30's or 40's, having never seen a piece of beautiful artwork before. There is a brief moment when Daniels first opens the book and it's a photo of two naked people, and he pauses for a moment, then turns the page to another painting and says "Gee whiz." The scene builds with music and images, until the end when Daniels tells Maguire that he could never paint like that, because "where will I ever see colors like that?" It's so heartbreaking, to see a man that knows what his true passion is and is unsure that he can ever be able to pursue it.
It becomes even more powerful as the film progresses and he begins to paint beautifully, leading to the scene with the wall mural, which is one of my favorite scenes in any film ever.
The film is filled with wondrous images, but the sense of discovery, the way that these characters have their eyes opened by the beauty of art, color, sex, love, books, social unrest, and music, is just astonishing. Brilliant film.
Most of my favorites have already been mentioned, so I'll share one that is probably not on anybody else's list: a moment from the much-maligned movie version of Gypsy. High on my list of "Movies that I love that most people have never even heard of or don't give a crap about if they have".
Louise Hovick (Natalie Wood) had spent her enitre life in the shadow of her far more talented sister Baby June (and then later Dainty June). June was the star. Louise was dressed up as a boy and was little more than scenery. Then, after June eloped to get away from the ultimate stage mother, Madame Rose, they find themselves hitting rock bottom performing some laughably dated vaudeville act in a second rate burlesque house. To make some money, Rose volunteers her daughter to fill in for a stripper. At first, it appears that Louise is appalled that her mother would prostitute her out like that. Certainly the mother's fiance is and storms out on in disgust. Louise silently walks off to get into costume and then re-appears, the first time she had ever worn a nice dress and been in make-up. Alone in the dressing room, she looks in the mirror and gasps. She reaches out to her reflection and says "Mama, I'm pretty. I'm a pretty girl, Mama".
Gets me every time. And the movie manages to sustain that note until the end. Louise walks out towards the stage, feeling good about herself for the first time in her life, she is asked, "are you ready?", and she responds with a very confident "yes". Then we get the "Let Me Entertain You" montage as she rises to the top and becomes the classiest, the highest-paid stipper in the business. (The real life Louise was so transcendent of her profession, H.L. Mencken coined the term "ecdysiast" to describe her). Then she tells her mother off for the first time in her life. "I am Gypsy Rose Lee, mama. And I love her!". Then the final reconciliation. It's a wonderful character arc from wallflower to bonafide star. The only thing that puts a damper on the elevation aspect is a throwaway bit of her lighting up a cigarette, beginning a nasty habit that would eventually end her life at the age of 59.
I too am mystified as to no mention of Shawshank.
I'm a big comic reader, so a lot of mine come from there. I get it at the end of Warren Ellis and Darrick Robertson's Transmetropolitan, or that moment in James Robinson's supreme super hero opus Starman when Jack Knight takes on the family mantle to save his beloved city, Opal. The end of Brian Bendis and Micheal Gaydos' post noir tale Alias when lead Jessica Jones gets told by long time friend and occasional lover Luke Cage he really cares about her... and she floors him by telling him she's pregnant with his child (That damn grin, and then a cautious, "Do you want it?" "Very, very, very much." And then Luke has that damn grin again). The small moment of peace after all the crap Jessica has waded through.
The feeling attempts to push out in the theater, and as you say word's can't contain it in the moment. Thus, we seek out the empathy of shared feeling, of knowing that yes-- this man beside me is smiling with my niece and I as our back bones make us fidget, marveling at WALL-E's courtship. Yes, this woman is as touched by two reunited sisters playing hand rhythm games from childhood as I am...
I definitely experience the stimulation of this nerve in many aspects of my life. Unfortunately, overstimulation of the nerve is a physical problem for some people. It's called vasovagal syncope and results in fainting.
Ebert: Is every blessing mixed?
Roger said
"...I don't really cry, at least not in the wiping-my-eyes and blowing-my-nose fashion. What I experience is the welling up of a few tears in my eyes, a certain tightness in my throat, and a feeling of uplift: Yes, there is a good person, doing a good thing. And when the movie is over, I don't want to talk with anyone. After such movies I notice that many audience members remain in a kind of reverie. Those who break the spell by feeling compelled to say something don't have an emotional clue."
I remember after watching "Million Dollar Baby"--there were only a few people watching the movie--about 10-- (it was about midnight)--and I got up to leave and noticed one guy stopped at the bottom of the stairs and was looking at me kind of staring at me, frankly, and I gave him a very quick you-just-keep-right-on-walking look.
I haven't seen Marley & Me, so I speak not of that movie, but is it ever possible to have a loyal dog die on film, and it not be a moving experience? I remember people sniffling at the end of [SPOILER ALERT] "Turner & Hooch", when Hooch was shot. Of course, "Old Yeller", "My Dog Skip" and "Sounder" provide a classic gut check.
No disrespect to any particular movie, but I wonder if filmmakers realize that, regardless of the quality of the movie, having the dog die will make the audience feel SOMETHING.
My beautiful friend Roger,
My parents used to make fun of me for loving "Fargo" because it was 'weird'. I think their favorite movie from this past year was probably 'Firproof'. The fact is 'Fargo' is ironically probably one of the deepest and effective portrayals of the beauty of that love that can spring up in the basic affection of a family. This is a love that a movie like 'Fireproof' surely knows nothing of.
The most i've cried in a movie is 'Elephant Man'. I cry for the same reasons as you, rarely because the sadness of a movie, rather for its beauty. I cried through most of 'Elephant Man' because a man who has been dramatically deformed, progressing from animal-like treatment to places of honor is about the most beautiful thing I can think of. I can see him in my mind waltzing respectfully around his room with the new found dignity and self-respect brought on by the love of his friend.
But I have found that I actually cry the most when i'm watching a beautiful film completely alone (like during Elephant Man). Maybe growing up in the South has required me to take on the role of a man who's forced to repress intense emotions. I've also found that the ability to feel things has progressively waned over the past few years, though I place a great amount of importance on cultivating feelings. I would say it's actually one of my chief goals or aims in life.
I liken the stimulation of the vagus nerve in "elevation" to the religious ecstasy experienced by devotees of faiths. The stimulation is real, physical and creates a distinct imprint in the mind--validating the process by which the elevation occurred.
Some moments in movies which elevate me are:
~ In Die Hard when Bruce Willis is on the radio talking to Reginald VelJohnson (the black police officer) and says something like, "If I don't make it, find my wife, don't ask me how...tell her, tell her I'm sorry and I love her." "Tell her yourself," Reginald replies.
~ Many moments all over Good Will Hunting. The one that gets me most is when Robin Williams says to Matt Damon, "It's not your fault." He then repeats it as Damon confronts his pain.
~ Moulin Rogue when it intercuts between the rape scene with the Duke, the dance sequence in the hall and Ewan McGregor singing.
~ At the end of the movie The Notebook when Garner crawls into bed with Rowlands and hold hands together. The end credits rolled and people all around us got up and departed. My wife and I were the only ones left in the theater as the lights came on, tears streaming down our faces, still holding hands. Critics may accuse Cassavetes of naked sentimentalism but for us, it was achingly truthful. My wife and I go to bed each night holding hands while lying side by side, you see. And when I tell her "I love you" as I kiss her good night, she replies, "When you die, I want to go with you."
~ In the under-appreciated Asian martial arts epic Hero starring Jet Li, Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung, there is a scene near the end where Maggie and Tony and dueling as a result of a lover's quarrel on the mountain top of an exotic desert. Although he is the superior swordsman, he chooses to drop his sword as she makes a fatal thrust which mortally wounds him. As he lays dying, she asks him tearfully, "Why didn't you block my sword?". He doesn't reply but the audience understands the implication that he didn't because he loved her and he never intended to hurt her despite their disagreement. The same elevation is evoked when Jet Li faces the logical outcome of having confronted the emperor by surrendering to execution. The destiny of the characters are all defined by the choices that each made which encompassed themes of honor, sacrifice and motivation for the greater good.
~ The ending of Braveheart.
~ In the Mood For Love another movie starring Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung directed by Wong Kar Wai. The entire piece had a lyrical poeticism that transcended formulaic Hollywood structure for pacing and plot development. It literally put me in an altered state of movie mind that stands outside of time. I consider both Hero and In The Mood For Love the two movies where the cliche, "Every frame a Rembrandt" is applicable. Both were photographed by Christopher Doyle.
Ebert: "In the Mood for Love" has always fascinated me. So you think there is a connection between the principal characters on a hidden level?
I love that scene from Fargo--the decency of Marge and Norm is magnified by the woodchipper and horrors that came before.
One of the movies that always pushes my elevation buttons is Grand Canyon, a film I always thought was underrated.
Well, to think of a specific example, I recentley read 'For Whom The Bell Tolls' and when the character Pablo returns after dumping the dynamite and essentially running away from his problems, i felt what I think was distinct 'elevation.'
For me these moments can appear in any movie, and they can lift a mediocre movie into something special, or change my perception of a movie altogether.
But the most momentous one, for me, is the three minutes that open CONTACT. I am left breathless, and it casts this feeling across the entire movie like a shadow. The movie is good, but with this opening it is great.
Reading the comments I was reminded of a moment in 'Wonderful life'.It's when Baily returns home and finds the police there. It's as if the prospect of going to jail is of no concern and the only thing that matters is seeing his family. Then everyone turns up to help him out but it was this moment that stood out for me.
I was just talking about something similar with a friend last night. I described it as "hurt/comfort". I'm not sure if that's exactly the same thing you're talking about, though. All I know is that when someone is comforted after something awful happens to them, I just completely come undone.
I have mostly been a quiet spectator in the comments arena, but in keeping with the idea that these feelings are more strongly evoked with a crowd in the theatre, I'm going to break form and post two film moments (one very happy and one very sad). Despite having watched them over and over, these two haven't yet lost their power to make me weep. I'm including the sad one because from having only learned of it through this blog entry, I wonder if there might be a Bizarro vagus nerve, or maybe it's the same nerve performing the same physiological function from a different stimulus, triggered by the beauty of a certain sadness...?
The sad: Silent but for the swelling theme of the soundtrack, Count Almásy's moment of deep and uncomplicated anguish as he appears to scream at the desert around him, carrying his beautiful dead lover from the Cave of Swimmers.
The Elevating: "To my big brother George: The richest man in town."
For me it’s Amy Adams character, Ashley, in the hospital scene from “Junebug”. Through tears she tells her concerns for Johnny, her anger at the doctors, her confusion on god as a result from the pregnancy, and when we think she’ll slide into despair, she instead “elevates” herself. Eventually, she calms down, smiles and tells George how much she loves Madeleine and him being a part of her family. It’s the most devastating moment in the film, but she remains optimistic. That scene did me in.
For me, Out of Africa is a film that is filled with elevated moments, especially in the scenes between Karen and Farah, showing the formation of a deep, unspoken friendship through their mutual loyalty and respect. I truly weep during the parting scene where Farah says her name for the first and last time; that scene is filled with an almost overwhelming sense of loss, yet also of peace and acceptance... a masterful film!
For me these moments can appear in any movie, and they can lift a mediocre movie into something special, or change my perception of a movie altogether.
But the most momentous one, for me, is the three minutes that open CONTACT. I am left breathless, and it casts this feeling across the entire movie like a shadow. The movie is good, but with this opening it is great.
Roger, to reply to your comment about a correlation between the Academy Awards and Elevation, I'd have to agree (mostly). When I think recent films like Schindler's List and Million Dollar Baby, I can think of particular scenes that foster the sense of Elevation. Even classics like On the Waterfront (the entire scene in the taxi, when both Brando and Steiger both realize what they have to do) and Casablanca (not the "here's looking at you, kid" but when Bogart also realizes the reality of the situation and the choice he has to make) elicit Elevation.
But there are notable exceptions, especially in recent years. No Country for Old Men is an excellent film, but I'm struggling to think of moments where a sense of Elevation could even exist (Tommy Lee Jones' final monologue, perhaps?). The Departed is also noteworthy, but even harder for me to recall any moments where I'm profoundly moved by the transcendent goodness of a character. The thing is, even those these two films didn't bring about a moment of Elevation for me, they're still powerful and well-made films.
I know the exact feeling you describe. It very rarely happens to me, being that I'm comprised of a series of ones and zeroes. One film that I recall inspiring this feeling is the beautiful 'Grave of the Fireflies.' It's anime (a turnoff to some) but if you haven't seen it, stop what you're doing and see it today.
Ebert: Here you go:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20000319/REVIEWS08/3190301/1023
For me, the final scene in Lost In Translation is an absolute killer. Those few precious seconds Bob and Charlotte embrace before he walks away.....Charlotte then looking on tearfully as Bob walks away with his back to her, perhaps longing for one final glance....but it never comes as life must go on. But they'll always have that moment.
I was Elevated for the entire duration of "Wall-E." I still am, in fact.
It's interesting you mention "The Shawshank Redemption," because, while the movie was wonderful, it's the novella that tingles me. One of my favorite pieces of fiction ever.
Ebert: I believe Elevation explains a lot of the awards WALL-E has been getting. When you think about it, WALL-E is no less "real" than any animated character.
I think this may be my favorite threads of all the Ebert postings because so many "Elevations" bring back such sweet memories. Some of mine that continue to bring the tears:
The end of "Brief Encounter," when Celia Johnson's husband tells her he knows she has been far away but is glad she decided to come back to him.
"E.T.": "I'll be here."
"To Kill A Mockingbird": The recognition on Scout's face when she says, "Hey, Boo."
"Field of Dreams": "Hey, Dad, wanna have a catch?"
"Saving Private Ryan": At the cemetery, when Ryan asks his wife if he was a good man.
"Out of Africa": Karen Blixson's eulogy at Deny's funeral ("He was never mine").
"Ikiru": Mr. Wantanabe on that swing.
"Forrest Gump": When Forrest finds out that it is his son, and he asks "But is he smart, or is he....?"
And I cannot believe no one mentioned what may be the most emotional scene of all time...."City Lights," and the look on The Tramp's face when he realizes the flower girl can see him. That one look sums up my love for the movies.
When I was a young teenager and saw Terms of Endearment for the first time, I cried like a baby during the scene when Debra Winger says goodbye to her sons. As a child, I could relate to the boys' sadness at losing their mother, and I could empathize with the mother's sadness at leaving her sons. Now though, as a nearly-middle aged man (thank God for that "nearly-") it's another scene that makes me weep every time. Just before Winger dies, she looks at her mother for the last time, her clear eyes showing such love, compassion, relief, and release that it breaks my heart every time. The death of a young and vibrant character like Winger's is deeply sad, but what ELEVATES the movie to greatness for me now is that look she gives her mother; it says "yes, it's sad that I'm dying so young, leaving my young children, my sad life, and you, but how lucky I am to have loved you. How lucky I am to have lived." What Winger does with that one look makes me grateful for the chance to live and a little less frightened about it all ending.
ive knowwn this feeling many tiimes
forrest gump when he puts his son on the bus
Rory O'Shea Was Here when michael goes back to rorys room at the end
walle the spark kisa
2008 wimbledon finals over 8 hours long nadal FINALLY breaks through
The scene from Hannah and Her Sisters where Woody Allen discovers the meaning of life watching Duck Soup. I choke up everytime I see it,very profound.
Roger,
thanks for the uplifting thoughts. That's one of the main reasons I go to movies! Dacher Keltner, whose study you cite, edits Greater Good magazine and your readers might be interested in our Symposium on Moral Inspiration published in the Spring/Summer 2005 issue, featuring an article by Jon Haidt "Wired to be Inspired". You can find it at http://greatergood.berkeley.edu/greatergood/archive/2005springsummer/
By Will on January 15, 2009 2:17 AM
But, then again, I laugh when Donna Reed is an "old maid" in the movie's alternate reality, since I find the notion of an angel like her being unable to find a husband ridiculous.
And on that note, why is it in the Pottersville universe she needs glasses. Does the library she works at have inadequate lighting?
I love a good cry at the movies as much as anyone, but give me a break about lactating mothers and Oprah and Obama. As a breast-feeding mother of 2, I can assure you that I have "leaked milk" into a nursing pad, but it had nothing to do with a warm, fuzzy feeling for the situation I was in at the moment. (Listening to a droning politician at a holiday employee party.) It was simply time for my baby to nurse and my breasts were too full of milk.
If the scientific study is correct along with your observations, perhaps Chris Matthews should have an MRI to make sure his Vagus Nerve has not traveled down into his leg, causing him to experience "Elevation" and tingling upon seeing Obama.
I'm not a social animal. Actually, I find little difference between the experience of seeing a great movie with an audience and seeing one on DVD. I am most anxious in social situations. When the lights dim and the movie begins, I breathe a sigh of relief because that's when the rest of the audience goes away.
But I do understand the feeling. And I recognize the movie moments that cause it. The reflection of a lighter's flame in WALL-E's eyes as he gets to know EVE is so simple, but it's a moment that I don't think is equaled by any film from 2008. For a long time I've observed that it's easy to make me laugh; the hard thing is to make me smile, and of course I'm not talking about a casual grin. I'm talking about the kind of smile that starts somewhere much deeper and radiates outward.
It is most certainly a physical reaction. I too felt it during Obama's victory speech. I felt it during Tommy Lee Jones's closing speech of "No Country for Old Men." I felt it in Club Silencio in "Mulholland Drive" (like Naomi Watts's seizure, but less animated). I felt it when Justin Kirk chose life in the HBO miniseries version of "Angels in America." And during other rare moments of movies, music, and television -- a stirring that you can't quite describe, but which announces itself most clearly when you're feeling it. Elevation is the right word for it.
Lori wrote: "I definitely experience the stimulation of this nerve in many aspects of my life. Unfortunately, overstimulation of the nerve is a physical problem for some people. It's called vasovagal syncope and results in fainting."
Isn't this referred to as the "Stendhal Syndrome," because Stendhal was so overcome by the beauty of the art and architecture of Florence he felt like fainting? It's also the name of a Dario/Asia Argento movie! (Although one would hard-pressed to find heart-swelling goodness in that film.)
Ebert: It's amazing the things you learn in these threads.
The IMDb plot summery:
Anna Manni is a policewoman trying to capture a vicious serial rapist and killer. The problem is that she suffers from "Stendhal's syndrome", a psychosomatic disease that gives her dizziness and hallucinations when she is exposed to the sight of paintings and artistic masterpieces. When the maniac lures her into a trap inside Florence's famous Uffizi museum, her troubles are just beginning.
Thanks for the great read and insight.
And thanks for writing a blog that elicits such comments as: "Bruce Willis saying goodbye to his daughter before he blows up the asteroid gets me every time."
That's classic!
Ebert: No feeling of elevation when the Earth was saved?
I love a good cry at the movies as well, but give me a break about lactating mothers and Oprah and Obama! As a mother of two children whom I nursed, I can assure you that nursing mothers sometimes have moments of "leaked milk", but it has nothing to do with feeling warm fuzzies over a contrived TV show or being awestruck in the presence of unproven greatness. I've leaked milk during a droning politician's speech at an employee holiday dinner! It is because a mother's body senses when it is time for her baby to nurse, the breasts become overly full from the increasing milk supply, and it has to go somewhere if they baby is not nearby. It also depends on how much rest the mother has had, how relaxed she is, the type of diet she eats, how much water she drinks during the day, etc.
Please do not perpetuate bad science as truth by reporting it as fact, even if it has a catchy buzzword which coincides with a popular U2 song. And please don't use it to explain people's preference for exploitive TV programming and political preferences. Even Blago learned that lining up sick and disabled people behind him on a stage didn't stimulate Illinois voters' Vagus nerves enough for us to believe him.
Ebert: Hey, I just quoted the study. If the results have been reported accurately, you have to admit they're interesting.
As a kid, "The Little Mermaid" had a few scenes that made me want to well up. That song "Part Of That World" fills me up with emotion each time I hear it, even now.
In "I Am Sam", Sean Penn's character loses his daughter, and his daughter leaves the house several nights in a row, each time being returned by the father. The scene where the adoptive mother tearfully decides realizes that she can never have the same spot in her daughter's heart, as her real father has, and then offers to raise the child together...that had a lot of power for me.
There is no single film has elevated me to a higher understanding of my own humanity like Koreeda's "After Life". That film is so brilliant at taking our lifetime of human experience and simply asking what single memory is worth taking with us when we cross over to the undiscovered country.
For those who don't know, "After Life" is a remarkable film about twenty-two people who have died and arrive at sort of a rest-stop between this mortal coil and their heavenly lodgings. They are given the task of choosing one memory from their lives to take with them to the afterlife. That memory will be turned into a play and all other memories will be elimated. The strength of the film relies on the individuals and the choice that they make. Some believe that they have too many memories to choose from, others feel that they have none.
This film had me thinking more deeply and more seriously than any other film about my collection of experience, about where I've been, the things that I've seen, the joys and the disappointments that I have experienced.
"After Life" made me understand that flesh and bone mean very little and when we have reached the end our lives our humanity is made of our memories and our experience. It made me understand that a greater understanding of life is found in the journey itself. This film got inside my mind and effected a higher understanding of who I am as a human being, of the small box of time that I exist in and the vast collective of my lifetime of experience. Now that's elevation.
Ebert: And his "Maborosi."
No one's mentioned Titanic yet? I've seen that film over and over, and every time, I weep through the last third or so. Not because of Jack and Rose, not because people are dying, but because of the heroic way that they die. And it's (mostly) true. All of it.
I also broke down at the end of Silent Running, with Dewey out in space...all alone...forever. Man, I'm tearing up just thinking about it.
Excellent blog entry, if somewhat sad. But uplifting, too.
For me, the best moment like this is in "Glory": The regiment hears that they will be sold into slavery (for many of them, a return to that life) if captured in the South. Robert Gould Shaw tells them he will grant an honorable discharge to any soldier who wishes to leave. He gives them overnight to decide. The next morning, when he is convinced they will all have gone, he goes outside to see, and every man is there, standing at attention, waiting for him. "Glory" has a lot of those moments...
Hmm...well I think different things move different people. My opinion of Fargo is clouded because I can't help but compare Margie to my mum. My mum's a seemingly naive woman, but she's a brilliant doctor (complete with not one, but two boards of speciality), who despite the sexism of her boss was brilliant enough to have the hospital force her boss to promote her, was then promoted above him, and then forgave him for treating her so badly. People tend to misunderestimate her. Watching Margie solve the crime in Fargo with the coffee with her accent and all, I was reminded strongly of my mum.
She's quite the woman.
(My dad is really just a genius, a superb doctor, a wonderful parent, who showed me Gone With the Wind, Oliver! and The Sound of Music when I was four, and who would sit with me for hours as I watched and re-watched Mary Poppins. But he isn't as good-hearted as my mum...and yet is known for his kindness. Which says a lot about my mum.)
But what about Spirited Away, Chimes at Midnight, Do the Right Thing and Wall-E. Those aren't about good people - but they moved me to tears (literally - as a piece of advice to anyone whose never seen Spirited Away or Wall-E - don't see them in the same day, there's no sleeping). Casablanca had good people - but I didn't really feel anything at the end. Just thought it was a huge mess with some good writing here and there and drenched in atmosphere.
More the story than Cinematic device, In Spartacus, after Spartacus if forced to kill his close friend to spare him from crucifiction, Kirk Douglas looks up at Lawrence Olivier and says "He'll be back, and he'll be millions."
Gets me every time
Although this thread is already quite long, I can't resist mentioning a wonderful moment of elevation I experienced: the final scene of "The Killing Fields" in which Dith Pran reunites with his close friend Sydney Schanberg at the Red Cross camp. Dr. Haing S. Ngor's performance as Pran was hauntingly genuine, and that scene alone was surely enough to convince the Academy.
Sydney: "Forgive me?"
Pran: "Nothing to forgive, Sydney, nothing."
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
Thank You, Mr. Ebert for expressing in clear and succinct terms why some of cinema's greatest films seem to linger in the soul and memory and seem to enlighten and unite with the viewer on a spiritual, instead of a purely aesthetic level.
However, I'd like to add another level to this theory of elevation. The films that truly make a tear drip out of my eye don't do so because of supreme empathy for the human condition or a sense of pristine emotional truth, although they are two aspects that must be there. The films that move me immeasurably do so because of the simple fact that I am grateful that such films exist.
This most recently happened to me at the very end of Kieslowski's Three Colors trilogy, when I was shaken to the core by the sheer, absolute grace of Kieslowski's achievement. It also happened to me on Kieslowski's previous film, The Double Life of Veronique. And at the end of every single Andrei Tarkovsky film. And yes, at the end of Cries and Whispers. And at the end of Magnolia.
And even though we are immensely moved by the films that we love, I think that true elevation occurs when we are moved by the fact that these films exist, and when we become greatful to the artists who have the ability and bravery to produce works of art that move us so deeply
I know exactly the feeling you're talking about. When I was in high school I read 'The Devil's Arithmetic,' a story about a girl who, none too keen on the history of her Jewish family, finds herself magically transported back in time to a concentration camp. I remember being riveted during the entire book, but despite the horrors of the story I was dry-eyed, and at this late date I couldn't tell you most of the specifics of the plot. I don't even remember how it ended, for sure. But I'll never forget the epilogue, when one character—a warm, matronly type—is described as having survived, but with a weight loss of dozens of pounds, because she kept giving her food to the children around her. It wasn't described much more elaborately than I just did, but that did it, and I started crying like a baby.
It didn't make me cry, but in the face of quite a few downright awful experiences with loud, rude, cellphone-using movie theater audiences (and a home entertainment system that's frankly technically better than a lot of theater screenings I've seen lately) I keep going back because of the time I saw 'One Hour Photo,' of all things, in a packed house on a weekend in Union Square, NYC. Going to this theater on the weekend is usually guaranteed to provide a night full of aggravation, but that movie really did its stuff; after an hour the theater was silent, and it stayed silent all the way to the end. You could *feel* everyone's held breath, everyone's alertness as they gaped at the screen in silent dread. Funny that this would be a warm, fuzzy memory, but I really do treasure it. I've seen better movies, I've seen movies with more inherently polite audiences, but I don't remember feeling the current of sharing a movie-viewing experience with a crowd of strangers that strongly. Even though it was an experience in mutually shared fear, it really did have that feeling of elevation.
Ebert: Sometimes I think movies create the audiences they deserve.
Chaplin. The Circus, the final scene, of course, when the tramp dejectedly watches the circus pull away and leave him in the dust...
...and shuffles toward the back of the frame...
...and stops, pulls himself together, and puts a spring back in his step, adjusts his bowler to a jaunty angle, and heads off...
It always reminds me of that last bit of Camus' Myth of Sisyphus, where he talks about choosing to think of Sisyphus as being happy on his walk down the hill to move the boulder, yet again. A brilliant bit of filmmaking, unabashedly sentimental--a glimpse into the crestfallen soul of the tramp and his struggle against self-pity. Strength.
Genius. Will there ever be another Charlie? We sure could use him right now.
Roger,
I cannot agree with you more. "Empathy is the feeling that makes us most human." This is why I study literature at U of I. Those "shiver" moments when reading a short story by Carver ("A Small, Good Thing"), or a Woolf novel (To the Lighthouse, especially), or any Frost poem--I live for them. As for film, I remember feeling quite elevated watching Danny Boyle's "Millions." The scene when Damian tells his mum he wasn't really worrying about her, just missing her, really gets me.
Ebert: I showed that at Ebertfest.
Liz wrote:
"Powerful moments of elevation..."
Crikey. Scientists and bureaucrats. Never use a nickel word when a four-bit one will do. The word is "joy."
Liz,
I am pleased to know I am not the only one to react that way to this kind of turgidity. Although the neuroscience is interesting, my first response was to utter, "Good Lord. A guy 'coins' a term--and an ungainly one at that--for an emotion everybody knows well and which thinkers and artists have studied since time immemorial?" A part of me also rebelled and thought of the lines to Whitman's "Learn'd Astronomer".
Coincidentally, I submitted a post mentioning the preferable word "joy" earlier today, before your post was added to the log, but which either went into the ether or is simply not yet logged. No matter whether one accepts the ultimately religious connotation of the way C.S. Lewis uses the term in his Surprised by Joy, I still think it is as apt a word we rightly can hope to use for something which transcends language and even categories of thought.
Cheers,
Dan
Roger, I hope this one makes it through. This is the second journal entry in a row to which I have written midnight posts, which appear to have disappeared into the ether. Or, you didn't like them. I truly hope it was the former, although the latter would be understood, as well. There is another "Zach B" who posted, though...
Anyhow, I just wanted to contribute the first scene that popped into my mind, which is the finest final scene I have ever experienced.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5dWhFQwfd0
Also, I shared the emotional experience of watching the "Concert For George," which was a memorial concert celebrating the music of George Harrison. I won't try to rewrite the post, but I'll put up the song that sent me from merely misty to full-on bawling. Watch Clapton behind Dhani Harrison (you'll know him on sight) and you'll know why.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oM2FBxb7x24
Moments of true life beauty have brought tears to my eyes, within my own family.
I posted about my gret-grandfather, who wrote his wife a love note or poem every night of their 50+ year marriage. Definitely on the list.
My mother's father was a physician. While he was a holy terror with his kids and grandkids in his clinic (stitched my head with no local anaesthetic), he was a beautiful man. His clinic, while very busy, was often failing as a business because he would refuse to charge his patients, because they became his friends. I still towel off the way he taught me at his poolside.
At a cousin's wedding, I was happy to re-acquaint myself with our old housekeeper, who I hadn't seen since my parents' divorce. She and her husband told me about something my father did for them. When they were working for us, back in the early eighties, they, recent Mexican immigrants, couldn't get a loan for a house in Dallas, Texas. So, my father bought the house they wanted, and allowed them to pay him back, interest free.
These memories and stories are all I have of these men in my family. And, of course, this leads me to quote Ringo Starr and George Harrison:
"Every time I see your face,
it reminds me of the places
we used to go.
But, all I've got is a photograph,
and I realize you're not coming back
anymore..."
The first time I got the feeling was when I went with my wife to see Dumb and Dumber. After Lloyd and Harry's falling out, it was amazing to see Harry save Lloyd's life in the end. After Harry had taken a bullet for Lloyd (he was protected by a bullet proof vest) Lloyd asked "what if they would have shot him in the face." When the FBI agent said, "that's a risk we were willing to take" I about lost it.
Roger,
Earlier this morning Pacific Standard Time, I submitted a comment where I likened the stimulation of the vagus nerve to the religious ecstasy experienced by devotees of faiths then proceeded to list movies which elevated me.
Did it get lost in cyberspace or did I fail some requirement for posting? Just wondering.
Victor
Ebert: Comments are not posted automatically, but by me, and when I came back after two screenings there were over 125 waiting. This topic has struck a chord. And the comments have been so good.
The dream sequence at the end of The Polish Brothers' "Twin Falls Idaho" is as emotive and powerful as anything I've seen in a movie. I find it impossible to not cry at this scene.
Mr. Ebert, I have not seen as many films as you have in your career so it is a bit unfair of you to proudly declare that you do not cry at sadness, but only upon viewing elevation. I make no apologies for crying when I see true sadness in the movies. Some of us react to what we see because it may be more personal than for others. When I see a dog die in a film (Turner and Hooch, for example)I cry my eyes burnt red because I identify it with the lose of my own dog. However if one must stay on topic, then I believe that the greatest movie moment containing the spontaneous and uplifting criteria you articulated is the scene from "Casablanca", where Victor Laslo leads the patrons at "Rick's Cafe" to sing "Le Marsailles". I can only imagine what it must have been like to view this scene in the movie theater in 1943. It remains my favorite scene of all time and I still well up with tears everytime I see.
Many movies give me the feeling of 'elevation' that you describe, less cause tears to well in my eyes, but there are only two that can make me full-on cry, and they both make me sob like a child.
They couldn't be more different--
The first is 'My Dog Skip', with it's ending montage of Skip crawling on the bed to die, then the sad, longing shots of Yazoo City all set against that sorrowful piano and Harry Connick, Jr.'s beautiful, nostalgic, heartbreaking monologue.
The second hasn't been mentioned before, and that's Kasi Lemmon's 'Eve's Bayou'. That scene near the end with the two girls talking, where Jurnee Smollett says 'I hated him for you...". I lose myself, every time.
The first comes through skillful manipulation, the second from a real emotional core, but those are the two scenes that most continually affect me in any film.
Ebert: "Eve's Bayou" was my best film of its year.
Thank you for this post. I know exactly the feeling. I get it every time I hear the Arab Dance in the Nutcracker. I found a short performance of it on youtube (and cried again while listening to it).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpwuTiURwOM
To me, it is the most beautiful music in the world.
My 18-year-old sister recently went to see "It's a Wonderful Life" at the IFC and she reports that all of her female friends wept openly and nearly all of her guy friends pulled their hats down low or discreetly wiped their eyes. A NYTimes reviewer recently wrote an article about how it made him cry as a 15-year-old.
"It's a Wonderful Life"- the only movie known to make teenage boys weep.
I just had to comment on this. First though, thank you so much Mr. Ebert. I love your reviews, and this blog is becoming one of my favourites.
Some of my favourite moments like this (I know precisely what you mean!) are:
1. ET: When Elliott is talking to ET when he thinks that he has died, and that moment right as he's realizing that he's still alive.
2. Finding Neverland: Watching the children get to watch the play in the theatre, when the boys fly out the window after jumping on their beds. There are quite a few in that movie for me. Also, the final scene where Freddie Highmore is sitting on the bench talking with Johnny Depp after burying his mom.
3. Tom Waits and Lily Tomlin's dance in Short Cuts during the earthquake.
4. The end of It's a Wonderful Life, naturally. 'To my brother George, the richest man in town!'
5. Adaptation: When Chris Cooper is driving Meryl Streep from the airport and says 'When I hit the jackpot I'm going to buy an awesome car'. I've always thought that was one of the funniest parts of that movie.
6. Vertigo. Every time there's a profile shot, or one of those twisting embraces, I get a little giddy with how great that movie is and how happy I am that it's around.
Thanks again Mr. Ebert! I've got a new list of movies to watch thanks to this post.
About Schmidt has been the only movie that still makes me move to tears the same way I did watching the first time, all due to the final scene. Like you said, it is also a moment of goodness.
Alex Grosko: I'm glad "The Lives of Others" got a mention. It continues to be my standard for assessing the emotional impact of a movie's ending.
God, I can't believe I forgot The Lives Of Others. Amazing last fifteen minutes.
"No. It's for me."
Dear Mr. Ebert,
Thank you for putting into words what I've been feeling for so many years at poignant moments in history, literature, music, sport, and film. As a gentleman above mentioned, I, too, didn't cry at films as a child or teenager. I thought perhaps I was insensitive or afraid to let go and cry, but maybe most children don't have the capacity or experience to be truly empathetic. Those that do are often prodigies of some sort - actors, dancers, skaters, musicians. They have "old souls" and perhaps the capacity to empathize even though they don't have the literal years behind them.
Michelle Kwan reminds me of such a person. Her performance at 1998 Nationals transcended any figure skating performance ever. At 18 she had the ability to emote and truly interpret the music. Dick Button commented, "There is such a joy to her skating and she seems to embrace us with it ... so full of ease and joy." I cried at that performance. My mom and I both did. Dick Buttons comment has insight into Elevation, I think. One must feel empathy and made to feel part of something greater than ourselves - art, the human condition. Michelle Kwan does that more than any skater in my lifetime. As beautiful as other skaters' moves may be, they are just individual moves, not a work of art that elevates the senses to a higher level.
Certain music creates an emotional-physical reaction, and film/TV has this advantage even over other art forms as they can use visual and auditory senses.
Moments
1) Little Women - 1994: The first time I saw it in the theater I sniffled and teared when Beth died then Hannah dresses Beth's made bed with rose petals from the bouquet in her hands. There is metaphor that I never thought of until now in the way Hannah pulls the petals from the buds that reflects a life in bloom being pulled away and thrown to the wind.
I thought I'd be okay seeing it for the second time in theater. But no. I sobbed out loud. Then when I saw it at home, I sobbed longer and harder.
2) ER: The episode when Dr. Greene dies. They use the reggae-ish version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." I was glad my husband was at work that night. I knew I was going to cry and wanted to be alone. He would've made fun of me the cynic that he is.
3) Saving Private Ryan: Again, I thought I'd get better with subsequent views. I can't even watch it anymore. It's too painful. The bravery of Capt. John facing the German panzer with a mere pistol. The other scene that gets to me is when the medic is shot and he is begging for his mother. His friends ask *him* what to do. Perhaps it is the universality of wanting to held by the mother, and to see a grown man call reduces me. To see other grown men weep and ask a dying man for help. What makes me cry most of all is the brotherhood embodied in this scene.
4) In My Father's Den: A Kiwi film not released (as far as I know) in the US, my favorite actor, Matthew Macfadyen stars in it. I bought it from amazon.uk and managed to watch it through the magic of codes on my DVD player. This is an amazing film and it is an artistic tragedy that it is not available in the US. I would encourage everyone to watch it. The denouement and its revelations are wrenching. It is story of coming back home, a murder, and love lost. Please try to see this.
5) Four Weddings and a Funeral: Combining poetry, music in the medium of film, Matthew reads a W. H. Auden poem at his love's funeral. Part of the genius of this film is the viewer forgets, that there is supposed to be a funeral, according to the title. A great film or documentary makes you forget the inevitable.
6) Philadelphia: During the celebration of Andrew's life. To see the joy in the sorrow of a life lived to its fullest, yet incomplete.
7) Forrest Gump: When Jenny dies ...
8) Castaway: When Wilson floats away ...
(What is it with Tom Hanks's ability to make us cry?)
9) Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King: Pippin's song as Faramir leads his men on a suicide charge, the victory, and the entire epilogue (I didn't mind its length. I didn't want it to end.)
And my favorite line of the book and the movie. In the film, Gandalf explains to Pippin of Death as Gondor is seiged.
Gandalf: "End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path...One that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all change to silver glass... White shores...and beyond... the far green country under a swift sunrise."
Of course the audio adds to our emotion. The sound of battle flees into the distance and "Into the West" is heard in the background. If we haven't seen the movie before, we haven't heard the words, but still the melody is haunting. The moment is hopeful under the despair of Mordor's seige.
OK - I will stop there. I'm not very good with lists.
Ebert: I dunno. You seem pretty good to me.
Most soul-stirring (or spine-tingling) movie moment for me? Possibly the last moments of Scorsese's THE AGE OF INNOCENCE (my favorite Scorsese, and every bit as good as Wharton's novel): the glint of the yellow drapes bringing back the past like the sun in Newland Archer's eyes, and that final line - "Just tell her I'm old-fashioned"
Also, the end of THE UMBRELLAS OF CHERBOURG, where the two lovers have moved on from each other, but we still are in love with them both. (It seems that we, as the audience, are always the third member of an unspoken love triangle in any screen romance.)
Oh, and the end of BROADCAST NEWS (greatest screenplay in movie history?), where the love triangle has broken down from time and wear-and-tear, but the three combatants are still there, together, alive, somehow okay after all.
Incidentally, Roger, have you just recently become a John Prine fan? I think he's one of the clear underrated national treasures. He's a songwriter on (or near) the level of Dylan, yet he never seemed eager to obfuscate, or keep us at a distance. He sits right on your shoulder and sings lines like the following, which has circled around in my head since his "Lost Dogs and Mixed Blessings" album came out:
"The fundamental story of contemporary man / is to walk away and someday understand" - story of my life!
Ebert: New to John Prine? Not exactly. I wrote the first review he ever received. See my blog entry:
http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2008/11/your_flag_decal_wont_get_you_i.html
What a wonderful thread. Some of my favorites have already been mentioned here: Joe Banks and the moonrise in Joe Versus the Volcano, the final good bye between Karen Blixen and Farah at the train station in Out of Africa. During the rocket liftoff in Apollo 13, I almost stood up in the theater and cheered. Two of my *favorites* that haven't been mentioned yet: The first is the scene in Born Yesterday (the *real* Born Yesterday) when Judy Holliday as Billie Dawn (with the help of William Holden) uses the power of the truth and the strength of the American constitution to triumph over sleazy Harry Brock (Broderick Crawford). The second is the climactic horse race at the end of The Black Stallion - the whole movie quietly building to this moment. I love this entire movie, but man, that final scene always makes me glad to be alive.
Mr. Ebert: I find that I respond as do you, with a catch in my throat and tears that well in my eyes. So often, it is when I am somewhat caught off guard: when I realized what I was seeing at the end of Schindler's List, when again I understood who the two older women were at the end of Rabbit Proof Fence, when I watched little Ponette in the movie of the same name attempt to dig into her mother's grave with her hands in order to try and join her, in the episode on TV of Buffy the Vampire Slayer called "The Body" with its all to accurate depiction of the loss of a friend and mother, and at the ineffable end of Au Hasard Balthazar, with all the implications of that wondrous film- I tear even as I write. While I do follow the neuroscientific underpinnings of your concept of Elevation, I find that I don't see a need to understand how it happens; that it happens is enough.
Here are 3 more:
I'll try not to spoil...
Nashville: What struck me was not the act itself, but the reaction to it. Albuquerque singing "It Don't Worry Me" sends chills through my body and this wave of something... probably emotion, comes over me. What moves me is that people can pick themselves up after tragedy.
Fanny & Alexander: Seeing the grandmother who loves her daughter-in-law so much. "I fear we will have our dear Emilie before long..." The fact that love exists makes me speechless.
Hotel Rwanda: I was fortunate enough to hear Paul Rusesabagina speak at the Denver Convention center about his experiences. I find that I react strongly to other people reacting emotionally. I find it so moving that people have emotions (I know that sounds a bit silly). Watching the film later while knowing his experience was incredible. I can't even articulate what it was like, so I won't.
Believe it or not, your post gave me the same reaction I've had to these films.
Thanks for shaking me up Roger. You rock!
Best.
I have to agree entirely with what an earlier poster said. The revelation of Boo Radley is quite possibly one of the most touching moments in film history and always brings me to tears. In fact, I remember showing the film to a class once -- I am an American Literature at Simeon Career Academy -- and when the moment arrived I, as usual, had to turn my head and find something to do -- essentially trying to be sure the class didn't see me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a girl, one of my better students, doing very much the same -- her eyes were misting and she was turning away from the screen. Our eyes connected -- we caught each other and, in an instant of recognition, we burst out in laughter.
The end of "Pan's Labyrinth" has had that effect on me -- and my students -- as well. The sheer beauty of the finale brings emotions from places deep within us, as human beings. I must say the same for the final moments of "The Color Purple."
Quite possibly the only "sad" film scene that has brought me to tears is the death of Setsuko in "Grave of the Fireflies,"
and even then there is something fulfilling about it -- you leave the film excited that sheer drawings have touched you so deeply.