I went to see the Hours. I’d read the book before seeing the movie. What that means is that I ought to have remembered kleenex.
But of course I didn’t.
I think that reading the book spoiled a certain amount of surprise at what was going to happen. But then, reading Mrs. Dalloway prior to reading The Hours had kind of spoiled some of the surprise.
It didn’t matter, though. The movie was very true to the spirit of the book. The same feeling I had while reading the book, the feeling of being set adrift to revel in the details of the moment, were in the movie.
I could not help noticing all the small facts of decoration for the women. Their jewelry, their hair. Their clothes, yes their clothes. And the textures of their homes.
I don’t know if it is something innately feminine or not, but many many women take great pleasure in the little pretty details of their dress and decorations. The Hours was so much about women.
Being about women, it is of course, about all of us. We all come from a woman, after all.
The title refers to the moment. The Hours, the hours that go by and the hours that stay. Life is nothing more than the hours that you inhabit. Not the days, because an entire day is far too full to live at once.
The story in this movie takes a single day in the life of three separate women and traces how it unwinds. The story shows the experiences they have and the choices they make. It celebrates the fullness of life, in a beautifully honest way, revealing how terrifying, glorious and precious life is.
Obviously, I loved it. I especially loved it because it was not sweet or happy. It was just true. I hope it wins some recognition.