Eyeglasses, a baby-doll, a pair of boots exist in ghostly perpetuity, everyday items made strange by their decontextualization. Mundane objects are strewn about the ocean floor, the only testament to the lived experience of that drowned and broken metal hull. The film opens with images of the submerged ship. Yet tonight I was fascinated by that frame. Seeing it after all these years, I still remembered the main Rose and Jack plot quite clearly, but the frame narrative hadn't stuck with me as well. Yet something else caught my attention tonight, something I'd missed completely before. The way that Rose's mother declares that women's choices are never easy just as she pulls Rose's corset strings tight. The way that the rollicking party below decks lets us know that people with less money are more authentic, or at least more fun. I could talk, for instance, about the probably well-meaning but not very subtle way in which the film attempts to engage with issues of class or gender. Even then, though I enjoyed the movie, I felt inklings of things I noticed this evening. For the teenaged me, it was sad and awkward and romantic and manipulatively emotional. I saw it on my first real date, cliche as that may be, and watched it with a mixed response. I hadn't seen the film since it was in theaters the last time, before it won too many awards and became a parody of itself (i.e. Yet when some friends asked me to join, I went. I hadn't thought much about going to see it, and had even laughed at this rerelease as an easy money-making endeavor.
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