Ψηλό καπέλο

Anna Imhof 🌸5.0

Some hundred years from now, when people have turned into robots for good, this is the movie they will show kids in school to teach them what it meant to be alive.

Paddington

So many wonderful hats … and such marvelous dancing. Surely they worked up quite an appetite.

Anna Imhof 🌸5.0

On December 31, 2019, not only the last day of the year but also the decade, I visited Fred Astaire’s grave in Chatsworth in the San Fernando Valley, where he had his ranch and where he spent some of the happiest times of his life. It was an extremely emotional experience for me, not only because I was finally able to stand at his resting place, but because I always knew that the event would mark the end of an era in my personal history—as well as the beginning of a new one. When someone feels a strong connection to a certain artist, some people might find it bewildering, they might even make fun of it. When someone famous dies, some might say it’s silly to mourn the death of someone you’ve never met. This is a very privileged view, proving that these people always had someone real to rely on in their life, always had a support system to help them get through trying times, such as family or friends. But some people, like myself, have never had that. I have always been left to my own devices, beginning in my earliest childhood, when my mother didn’t take me in her arms when I cried, or when I had to learn to tie my own shoe laces when I was still too young to do so. Because I always had to overcome challenges by myself—and some of them are monumental—people view me as strong, as someone who doesn’t need anybody. But being strong doesn’t equate feeling strong. I feel, and have always felt, an incredible need for help, for comfort, for a hug. When it isn't provided, what do you turn to? Some start drinking, some get into drugs, join a cult, others drown themselves in work or materialistic things, and yet others, like myself, turn to movies, to music, to art, and to the power of the imagination. I don’t believe it’s dramatic hyperbole when someone says a song saved their life. I think art saves people’s life in a very real way, maybe the realest of them all. If you don’t agree, consider yourself lucky: You never had to rely on a song.Fred Astaire came into my life in 2015, just when I slowly started to walk again after having to rely on a wheelchair for 4.5 years, one of the many effects of a severe systemic infection that almost killed me in its initial stage. After I was somewhat stable, I became completely reclusive, and I only interacted with three people: A social worker, a person who dropped by three times a week to clean my apartment and buy groceries for me, and my doctor. I didn’t have a single friend in the world, neither in real life or online. That’s when Fred Astaire came—or rather danced— into my life, and with him, he brought so much light. From that point on, he was by my side as I embarked on a long and ongoing process of recovery, which isn’t just physical. He helped me come out of a decade of hiding, and step out into the world again. He helped me return to the place I consider home. He was my parent, my friend, my lover. He held my hand when no one else did. Although I’ve dreamed of having a career in film ever since I was a young girl, and although I’ve always been ambitious to the point of paralysis, I at the same time struggle to fight for my own goals. It’s so much easier to focus on someone else—usually a man. I have always thrown my own goals out the window when in love, I'm really really bad at keeping my own identity intact when I'm in a relationship, and the worst part about that is that I love it. I constantly have to remind myself and make an active effort not to disappear, whether I'm in a relationship or not. I always find new ways to disappear...It was a bit like that with Fred Astaire, too—he really was my whole world these past few years. For quite a while I’ve wanted to return to Los Angeles, go back to writing, go back to directing, now that I was stable enough. But deep down I believe I don’t deserve to see my potential fulfilled. This time though, one of my biggest flaws would turn out to be a good thing. As I was saddling up to return to the United States, it helped me tremendously to think about all the Fred Astaire-related things I could do once I was there. I never thought about the things I could potentially achieve there regarding my own career. But I desperately wanted to walk the streets he walked on, touch the things he touched, and sit by his grave, so desperately that it ultimately gave me the courage to take the leap and get into that dreaded plane and fly into an incredibly uncertain future. I also knew that once I was done with all the Fred Astaire tourism, the real challenge would begin: Focus on my art instead of his. And let go of his hand, just a little. So visiting his grave always signified the end of a long journey: Back from Europe to the United States, from reclusion into the world, from living as a shadow to becoming a living, breathing entity again. I knew that the photos I would take by his grave would make the final post on the Fred Astaire blog I've been running for 3.5 years with great passion and dedication. I knew it had run its course. So visiting his grave was both a hello and a goodbye, and doing so on the last day of the decade only made it so much more emotional. I will now rephrase what I wrote in the beginning: I don’t believe that anybody can save anyone's life—unless someone literally pulls you out of a flood or carries you out of a burning building. I truly believe we can only save ourselves. But I believe that others can help us save ourselves. I know that I wouldn’t be sitting in Los Angeles right now, starting all over again like I was twenty, if it wasn’t for Fred Astaire. He’s not the only reason why I’m sitting here, but he was a massive help. Even if I invented a hundred new words, I will never ever be able to express how much he means to me, and how grateful I am for the amount of joy, comfort and healing he has brought into my life. For all of this I thanked him when I finally found his grave—after looking for it for over an hour and almost having an emotional meltdown in the process. It was a beautiful, sunny day with an extraordinarily chilly wind. I sat with him for a long time. When I left, I truly felt like I had received a blessing.As I took the train back to Los Angeles and went “home” to the hostel, I found my dormitory empty, except for an Asian girl who was crying into her pillow. I asked her what was wrong, and she said that she really wanted to go see the fireworks downtown but that she’s just arrived in LA and is scared to go alone. Even though I was very tired and about to spend my New Year's Eve as usual—sleeping through it—I offered to go with her. We hopped on the subway and headed to Grand Park. And even though it might appear like I was her angel that night, she was just as much mine. It was the first time in seven years that I didn't have to go through New Year's Eve alone, and I just know in my heart of hearts that I will never have to spend it alone again. The cycle has been broken. As I stood there watching the fireworks, ringing in 2020 surrounded by tens of thousands of people in the greatest city of the world, I could feel myself shedding the old decade of darkness and pain, and felt an incredible sense of hope. And here's the video.Filmed by me, sung by Fred Astaire. Best with headphones. youtu.be/0GOav7zWNBg