Time, and other Eccentricities
I habitually recoil from writing about movies because I hate to spoil the plot for others when the film is new and perhaps as yet unviewed by the majority. I make an exception this time because the subject is old, unpopular, and perhaps remote. I refer to the year 1960, to be exact. The subject? The fourth dimension. Yes, I’m referring to “The Time Machine.”
The first time I watched it, I was physically wounded in my attempt to save the home-recorded VHS from our VCR, which at that very moment began to automatically record a Bob Jones University satellite projection of a chemistry lesson with Mr. Harmon. Thus, “The Time Machine” scarred me for life.
That was many years ago. Since we recently obtained a DVD copy, I’ve had the opportunity to contemplate what it is that makes the story so alluring, so evocative of personal history and universal meaning.
Is it not a reminder that we, supposedly unlike the main character, George, are stranded in time? Left to ourselves, we grope for definition, absolution, and serenity.
The story begins with an array of clocks and enthralling music and ends with a question: If you left your own time to build a new world in the future, “What three books would you take?”
In 1900 London, George has built a time machine, and frustrated with the permeation of commerce and wars in his own time, he is consumed with the determination to discover what joys, sorrows, and scientific developments lie in the future. After he travels several thousands of years ahead, he is soon bitterly disappointed to find that man has forgotten his past and left learning quite literally in the dust. After saving the world, so to speak, he returns to 1900. But when he tells his friends about his travels through time--always in London--they make light of his account. Perhaps finding purpose for the first time in his life, he takes three books back to the future (pun intended) and helps build a new world with a girl he loves and a people he can lead.
There are many sub-plots and hidden messages in the movie but I think friendship is the most evident. As it turns out, George only has one true friend back in his own time, and that is his neighbor, David Filby. Filby even gets his own theme song, highlighting his importance. His part in the plot is a true testament of brotherly love, faithfulness, and hope. I suppose my favorite part is when George, about to leave for the last time, says, as only Rod Taylor could stress its finality and wistfulness, “Goodbye, David. Thanks for being such a good friend, always.” And David looks back, missing the meaning, as we all do about so many things.
The first time I watched it, I was physically wounded in my attempt to save the home-recorded VHS from our VCR, which at that very moment began to automatically record a Bob Jones University satellite projection of a chemistry lesson with Mr. Harmon. Thus, “The Time Machine” scarred me for life.
That was many years ago. Since we recently obtained a DVD copy, I’ve had the opportunity to contemplate what it is that makes the story so alluring, so evocative of personal history and universal meaning.
Is it not a reminder that we, supposedly unlike the main character, George, are stranded in time? Left to ourselves, we grope for definition, absolution, and serenity.
The story begins with an array of clocks and enthralling music and ends with a question: If you left your own time to build a new world in the future, “What three books would you take?”
In 1900 London, George has built a time machine, and frustrated with the permeation of commerce and wars in his own time, he is consumed with the determination to discover what joys, sorrows, and scientific developments lie in the future. After he travels several thousands of years ahead, he is soon bitterly disappointed to find that man has forgotten his past and left learning quite literally in the dust. After saving the world, so to speak, he returns to 1900. But when he tells his friends about his travels through time--always in London--they make light of his account. Perhaps finding purpose for the first time in his life, he takes three books back to the future (pun intended) and helps build a new world with a girl he loves and a people he can lead.
There are many sub-plots and hidden messages in the movie but I think friendship is the most evident. As it turns out, George only has one true friend back in his own time, and that is his neighbor, David Filby. Filby even gets his own theme song, highlighting his importance. His part in the plot is a true testament of brotherly love, faithfulness, and hope. I suppose my favorite part is when George, about to leave for the last time, says, as only Rod Taylor could stress its finality and wistfulness, “Goodbye, David. Thanks for being such a good friend, always.” And David looks back, missing the meaning, as we all do about so many things.
(Stock photo)
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