Today, we saw "Stranger than Fiction," a humorous, quirky, and thoughtful movie about Harold Crick, an IRS auditor, who, through his wristwatch, discovers he is the main character of a novel—and that the author, Karen, plans to kill him at the end. Because he’s been living a colorless, dissociated life, continually counting and calculating everything around him, this twist of fate gives him an opportunity to learn what ‘living life’ can really mean. So, Harold seeks out Karen, hoping to convince her to let him live.
And what will Karen do? What happens when fiction not only imitates life, but becomes life? What is a life worth? What is an artistic masterpiece worth? What sacrifices should be made, and by whom?
And then there are the questions about destiny, fate, and choices we make…
* * *
Interestingly enough, this movie got mixed reviews. Most critics gave it a "high five." Then there were a few reviews—not just negative, but scathing and insulting drek, by pretentious-sounding ‘post-mods’ who were looking for a Charlie Kaufman "Adaptation" clone. Or they were upset that Will Ferrell, who played Crick, wasn’t doing his usual comedic shtick.
Well, I give it a "high five." And I’ll let Harold Crick have the last word:
You don't understand that this isn't a story to me, it's my life! I want to live!
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Humankind has not woven the web of life.
We are but one thread within it.
Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves.
All things are bound together.
All things connect.
~ Chief Seattle