A Distant Muse
Anthony Minghella died today, and what I have to say about it isn't a traditional post in memorium. I don't know if he was a good man, or a wife beater, or a tax cheat, or a champion of the destitute. The only thing I know about him is he wrote the stories for Jim Henson's "The Storyteller". Also, that those nine stories influenced me as a writer.
I remember seeing two or three episodes when they aired originally, circa 1985. I focused on it because it had Muppets. In the years afterward, though I didn't see them again, I knowingly (or sometimes unintentionally) adopted the particular patter for telling my own stories. It didn't matter if it was the fact that the car broke down on the way to the grocery, in my mind there were aspects of the fantastic in the language, at least. Even if I didn't say it, I was thinking about alliteration or turns of phrases that seemed more epic.
A few years ago, they released "The Storyteller" on DVD, and I was able to see the episodes I remembered plus six others. It was uncovering a treasure trove of things I already knew I'd like, which is a rare feeling much to be enjoyed! That's when I learned that all the stories were adapted by Anthony Minghella.
I've never seen any of his other, more acclaimed works, like the Oscar-winning screenplay for "The English Patient". But he's certainly influenced just about every blog entry I've made, plus hundreds of journal entries and stories I've written. The Nordic fairy tale I adapted for the class last year (posted earlier) is steeped in the language and cadence of those fairy tales. It's my pale imitation of a writer I admire.
I've even told some of his stories as stories, which I'm sure is a rare occurrence in today's world. They flow easily as told stories as never fail to entertain. It's a testament to good storytelling that when all the world is talking about instant gratification and shortened attention spans, we can still huddle near the fire and listen to times that never were and places that haven't been.
So in addition to all the other things he did, Anthony Minghella taught me that children's stories don't have to be for children. He also influenced the way I speak, the way I write, and even my vocabulary.
I remember seeing two or three episodes when they aired originally, circa 1985. I focused on it because it had Muppets. In the years afterward, though I didn't see them again, I knowingly (or sometimes unintentionally) adopted the particular patter for telling my own stories. It didn't matter if it was the fact that the car broke down on the way to the grocery, in my mind there were aspects of the fantastic in the language, at least. Even if I didn't say it, I was thinking about alliteration or turns of phrases that seemed more epic.
A few years ago, they released "The Storyteller" on DVD, and I was able to see the episodes I remembered plus six others. It was uncovering a treasure trove of things I already knew I'd like, which is a rare feeling much to be enjoyed! That's when I learned that all the stories were adapted by Anthony Minghella.
I've never seen any of his other, more acclaimed works, like the Oscar-winning screenplay for "The English Patient". But he's certainly influenced just about every blog entry I've made, plus hundreds of journal entries and stories I've written. The Nordic fairy tale I adapted for the class last year (posted earlier) is steeped in the language and cadence of those fairy tales. It's my pale imitation of a writer I admire.
I've even told some of his stories as stories, which I'm sure is a rare occurrence in today's world. They flow easily as told stories as never fail to entertain. It's a testament to good storytelling that when all the world is talking about instant gratification and shortened attention spans, we can still huddle near the fire and listen to times that never were and places that haven't been.
So in addition to all the other things he did, Anthony Minghella taught me that children's stories don't have to be for children. He also influenced the way I speak, the way I write, and even my vocabulary.
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