“I really liked the movie,” the man said.
“I liked that it was about trees,” the woman said.
“But it wasn’t about trees,” he said. “It was about the end of the world.”
“It was about trees,” she said.
“It wasn’t about trees. That’s like saying the day is about sun when everyone knows that days are more complicated than just the sun.”
“In that film trees were falling everywhere. You just didn’t see them fall,” she said.
“It’s maddening that you say that. You always say that,” he said.
“You always say that every movie is about the end of the world. Which means that you’re either confused or viewing the same film over and over or think you’re seeing the same film over and over. For the life of me, I don’t know what might be worse. That’s maddening.”
“You always say that the movie is about trees. No matter the movie. Where are we by the way?”
“Untrue,” she said. “Last week we saw a movie about frogs. I never said that movie was about trees.”
“And yet the movie was filled with trees,” he said. “If I said that something was about this or that, then this or that would have to be related in some fashion to the score or the story or the setting. I could say that the wind moves the trees or that the trees are pissed off and that’s why they’re shaking. But it would make no sense.”
“Just because the wind is moving the trees doesn’t mean that the trees are not also angry,” she said. “If the trees somehow know that their fellows are being killed off by butternut blight, then I would assume they have a right to be angry.”
“That makes no sense,” he said. “The wind isn’t even blowing.”
“Because it would be nonsense,” she said. “But the movie we saw was about trees. They were falling throughout. You just didn’t see them. It was too fast, too subtle. You had to pay attention. Like reading Saint Augustine or Le Petit Prince in Japanese. There’s a certain art to the identification and meaning of trees, a sort of dendrological scansion, a picking through the confusion of color, scene, and dialogue. I assure you that if you watched that same film at double the speed you’d conclude with me.”
“Look at her. See how she looks at us. Or him. What’s he saying, by the way? In any event, if I said that that cloud looked like a switchblade and when you looked up to see what I see and the switchblade had turned into a cow, then how could you agree with me. It’s the same with how you read a film.”
“A film isn’t a cloud. That’s your first mistake. You just aren’t the subtle kind. It’s true. There’s nothing subtle about you. It’s unfortunate but true. The art of dendrological scansion eludes you.”
