Moonstruck

I teach high English and History; all my life, I’ve been a rather rational and logical chap who always tries to find a way to explain what I am seeing and to help others bridge the gaps in their own understandings. This past fall, however, my students’ behavior over the span of about a week perplexed me to no end. During this time, a large and ripe moon rose in the sky – a shining plate settled into the cosmic crockery that was often still visible as we all trudged our way into school at 7:00 in the morning – and my kids went nuts. I broke up two fights, saw kids who were usually inseparable snap at each other, and others, who never said so much as “how do you do” to each other, became instant friends. I looked at my own instruction for answer: perhaps my lessons were not interesting enough; perhaps my materials were not engaging the kids sufficiently; perhaps the assignments were not challenging enough. I may be a bit biased, but I believed in the flexibility and potential of my plans. I sauntered over to the office to retrieve my mail and talk to a vice principal when one secretary, chiding a detained student, muttered to herself, “this moon is making everybody crazy!” For the first time in my life, I subscribed to superstition and blamed everything on the moon: to do otherwise was to stare into the abyss of teacher self-reflection, and that way madness lies.

Moonstruck fascinates me because the film is a study in acting what one believes in versus doing what one’s gut says. Throughout Moonstruck, Loretta (played so dynamically by Cher) acts according to superstition. Everything is done her way, which has led her to great success: she is a trusted bookkeeper, engaged to a reputable, if less than dreamy, businessman. Watch when she tells him how to propose (on his knees in the restaurant and not over their dinner plates) and what to order so that he doesn’t feel sick on his ensuing plane ride to Sicily. Every action she takes is predicated on her confidence in her judgement, and that faith is itself tied up in the simple dualism that she can only control what she can and everything else is simply bad luck. Upon meeting her fiancé’s brother, however, Loretta acts according to a new-found instinct that deviates sharply from her notions that veer on the edge of predestination. Simply, she must be with Ronny and he with her, consequences be damned; they proceed accordingly to his bed. They can’t resist each other anymore than the tides can resist the moon.

In a bit of Shakespearean high and low parallels, Loretta’s mother, Rose (Olympia Dukakis), struggles to reconcile her love for her husband with the man’s egregious philandering. Dukakis does so much with her eyes in this film – to watch them light up or be cast downwards to to follow the progression of a great and classical tragic figure. Her husband Cosmo (Vincent Gardenia) talks and talks and talks and yet everything that he can’t bring himself to say is what ultimately matters to Rose. He thinks that his life is built on nothing, a selfish conceit that Rose rebuts nobly. She is doomed to love him and he, despite his misgivings and misdeeds, her.

“Love don’t make things nice – it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren’t here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and die. The storybooks are bullshit.” I will always adore John Patrick Shanley for writing such a lovely soliloquy.