Paradise (August)

They find liberty unadorned in sideshows. They ridicule classical clockwork with emotional realism. Even Othello is realism, his paradise lost. They enact their dreams the way dreams are: wordless motion. The mime plays the role he knows by heart. But when the show’s over, someone must pay the bills. The big end of town indulges in small talk. Owners own, criminals scheme. Paris in August is a stage. Still, the illusions are not self-contained. Curtains open on true love. Longing is fulfilled and roles are reversed. The scene is set wherein the millionaire is murdered, unadorned, in the Turkish Bath.

  

7 of 10: 'Les Enfants du Paradis', by Marcel Carné (1945)

Paradise (January)

Paradise is Old Persian for Garden. Or Enclosure. Hence the Garden of Eden evolves from Babylonian captivity, after Israel encountered gardens. We have walked into paradises all our lives, snowbound Austrian January gardens, shaded Australian January gardens. We know it’s temporary, all we’ve got. The atmosphere, spherical for good reason, encloses the one paradise we will ever know in this world. Hence Gethsemane, the Garden where we try to stay awake and pray. It is our world, the enclosure of our mortal delight and dread. Wherever we travel around we’re here, shared and sharing, poorly prepared for betrayal and loss.