“Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.”
Lately, there hasn’t been anything good on.
Nothing feels original. If it is original, it’s marketed like WWII propaganda—billboards, sides of buildings, bus stops.
Perhaps I’m the problem? Perhaps I’m fatigued?
It could be me. Or—it could be that I’m right, just way too early.
I mean, it’s all coming out faster than it can actually be consumed. Our to-go boxes are full. And even if we could take it with us, our refrigerators are full too. Not a single cell in our body feels guilty for leaving a barely touched piece of content on the plate, on its merry way to the waste bin.
It’s just—our ‘watch later’ folder we’ve been meaning to get back to just keeps growing and growing and growing.
Who are we kidding? We’ll never get to it.
We’re Alice—falling, tumbling down, down, down the rabbit hole of content.
Exaggerating? For fun, yes.
Alas, the same could be said about my words here, for don’t we have enough stuff to read already?
Rather than continuing on my soapbox, the reason I write this is because I’ve found a simple solution that works for me: old films.
Why?
Well, remakes were rare. Movies were still considered new technology, as were their creations. Imagine that—new movies, made regularly.
What do we have now? Yet another Marvel movie. Sonic 3. And now Shrek 5? Sigh. When does it end?
So, I venture into century-old films—many of which today’s directors, actors, and writers still take great inspiration from, as they were crafted by the pioneers of early cinema. A reason, at least for me, to revisit the classics.
And third—because good things come in threes—the storylines, lessons, and themes are just as strong, if not stronger, still holding up nearly a hundred years later.
Roll the Film
Released in 1958, Auntie Mame follows a progressive, independent woman in the 1920s, left to care for her new nephew after his wealthy father dies. The antagonist, the nephew’s executor, objects to Auntie Mame’s unconventional way of living and tries to force her to send the child to prep school.
Near the end of the film, Mame faces a dilemma: go to a party to promote her new book, or stay home to meet, for the first time, her now-grown nephew’s girlfriend—the woman he plans to marry.
She makes the right choice: meets the girlfriend.
As for the party, she sends a body double—her secretary—the complete opposite of Mame: timid, awkward, reserved.
In the scene, Mame shouts:
“Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death—come on!”
Mame grabs the secretary’s hand, and they both run up the stairs to get her dressed.
End of Scene
This has never been truer.
Most suffer in silence—reserved, choosing not to live. But it is all a choice.
You don’t have to drink and party like Mame at the beginning of the film, but there’s so much more to life.
It makes you think: why do they choose not to live?
Are they living at all, or just watching?
Are most people waiting for permission?
Do most people believe they have more time than they actually do?
Has endless choice made us passive?
Are most living vicariously through others, staring into that small, handheld portal they call a phone?
Life is a banquet—yet, to loosely paraphrase Robin Sharma, most people live the same year 75 times and call it a life.
The same year over and over, only to reach the end and realize it’s too late.
Go walk the beach. Go climb a mountain. Go get lost on vacation and don’t tell anyone. Go learn a dance. Go learn a language. Go cook a new recipe.
Go create something.
If not examples like these, then what? To live through the lives of others?
You’re starving, brother.
And the first step to it all is to walk out your front door—literally and symbolically.
This is what Mame means by life’s a banquet.
Or so I think,
George
