Rough Stone Rolling

Permit me to ponder over the beauty of our flaws for a moment.

One of my favorite film characters is “Hero’s” Bernie LaPlante, played by Dustin Hoffman. A dyed-in-the-wool proponent of self-interest, cynicism and misanthropy, LaPlante gives humanity a wide berth because, like a well-tenderized piece of beef, he’s been relentessly hammered by it– largely due to his own behavior. Bernie’s not a likeable guy, but I still ache every time he gets penalized by some societal entity. The only shining nugget in his life seems to be his 10-year old son, Joey, who lives with Bernie’s ex-wife. Despite a myriad of disappointments, the boy adores his father and doesn’t see the leper everyone else does.

Just when life could not be any lower for LaPlante, as he’s hurrying to visit his son (after failing to make it several times before), an airline jet crash lands right in front of his car. Cursing his bad luck, he hears screams coming from the plane and, after first arguing with the passengers through the closed hatch as to why he can’t get involved (“Please save us!” “These are $100 shoes!”), he finally relents– he forces the door open and goes into the burning plane, carrying those who can’t get out themselves. Then after he’s done all he can (kvetching through the whole ordeal), he hurries on to get Joey, leaving the passengers, rescue workers and news crews left to wonder, who was that guy and where did he go?

There are a lot more twists and turns to the story, but for now I just want to focus on why I love Bernie– because he is me. He is us. Face it, life can be pretty ruthless at times. Sometimes the fertilizer just doesn’t stop. And when it comes down so hard you can’t help but feel victimized, and you just want to get down on your knees and complain. But then suddenly you’re thrust into an occasion where you have to make a choice: You either rise to it, or surrender to your weaker nature. And damn if you don’t find someone hiding inside of you– regardless of your pitiful state– that breaks out and makes stuff happen. What we either choose not to believe or think about is, that “someone” hides within all of us. Somehow over the course of our mortal journey we’ve chosen to bury him (or her) and embrace the lies about ourselves– that we’re not really good, or it’s not cool to reach out to strangers, or it’s okay to settle, or that we’re afraid. Whatever. Our real selves are Bernie LaPlante running into that burning plane. I think we all sense that. They’re just outside the peripheral of our consciousness.

This is why I love the Gospel. It teaches me that under my soiled, sardonic exterior there’s an angel fighting to come out, a child from heaven desperately wanting to be noble and good. A chained knight-errant struggling to break free. As are we all. Call me a foolish romantic, I do believe that. And really, is that so bad? Like Don Quixote said: But maddest of all…to see life as it is and not as it should be.

In the meantime, let’s take a moment and bask in the tao of Bernie La Plante:

“I know why it’s raining. I coulda predicted it. It’s raining because my friggin’ wipers are all screwed up. If my wipers were okay, the friggin’ sun would be shining– AT NIGHT!”

I’m with ya, Bernie.