Where Do You Seek the Unexpected?

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I love movies. I especially enjoy films that I know nothing about ahead of time—not even a short summary. I guess there are a few ways to do this when it comes to films. You can literally pick a title you know nothing about, do zero research, and offer yourself to what comes, good and bad. Or, you can simply pick a filmmaker who, even though you might know the plot, etc., their work, historically, is so different that you never know what to expect. Think David Lynch.

My family and I took the second path the other night, as we piled into the car and went to Wes Anderson’s new film, Asteroid City. Having seen the film, I don’t think I could, on my best day, summarize it for you. Everything is so unexpected, down to the cast members. I can’t even say for sure how I feel about the action or “plot” of the film. But I can say I loved not knowing what to expect, moment to moment, and that makes me feel alive. Maybe this is why so many people love Wes Anderson—he is a safe and consistent off-ramp into the unexpected. This is not the same as saying his work is “weird,” “different,” or “kooky.” He just consistently delivers the completely unexpected, scene by scene. That’s art. To me, asking a question like “How does Asteroid City end?” is like asking how the Mona Lisa ends.

I recently read an interview with Jordan Peele (my favorite director right now), and he named some filmmakers he admired and said he enjoyed their work because “you never know what to expect at any moment.” Peele lives up to that quality in his films. There are particular moments of Asteroid City, and one scene in particular, that are going to live in my head and heart for a long time, and their arriving in mystery contributes to that staying power. I won’t spoil those moments for you here.

But it’s the first path I enjoy even more—going into the experience completely dark. We were recently in Chicago for a split family endeavor: half of the tribe was going to see Taylor Swift (controversial statement: she’s a better song writer at this point than John Lennon), and that left me and my younger daughter to our own devices. She is a cinephile, so what would we do? Go to the movies, of course! But I wanted it to be something different, so I searched for places downtown to see an independent film. Thus, our six-block walk to the Gene Siskel Film Center to see a movie called Falcon Lake. All we knew was the title.

The unexpected commenced upon first walking in the door—there was nothing but a staircase. Maybe this is silly to say, but I’ve never been to a theater that was on the second floor (who knew!). There were two theaters and one was hosting a premier, which everyone else was there to see. We sat in a lobby filled with posters for previous films we’d never heard of, photos of young directors still unknown to us (many of them women), and waited for the one person to arrive who would scan our tickets.

We were two of maybe five people in the 50-seat theater when the lights went down. The rest was magic. We had no idea what to expect, and we got a film centered on characters my daughter’s age, and the dialogue drifted between English and French. I love this film. There are specific scenes and shots I will never forget, and the ending was challenging in terms of understanding what actually happened. When it was over, me and my daughter walked back down Michigan Ave., listened to a street performer absolutely slay “I Will Always Love You,” then stopped for delicious hard ice cream and batted around theories of what this completely unexpected film “meant.” It turns out the film had been reviewed in The New York Times the previous day and we happened to see the film…well…in the only theater showing it in the United States. What a stroke of luck!

In thinking about this earlier this morning, it occurred to me how little I do this, or even have the opportunity to do so: engage in experiences that are a complete mystery until (or as) they unfold. So, let’s take music—by all reports, the Taylor Swift concert was incredible (how could it not be?), but whatever is unexpected lies outside of the songs themselves, though certainly a surprise cover tune could pop up. I am typing this as I listen to my favorite band (Wild Rivers) on shuffle. I know the songs now; I love them, and I am listening because I expect them, just like Swifties expect the extended version of “All Too Well.” Let’s go see Les Miserable; is tonight the night that the plot somehow changes?

I guess I am asking: are there actually far fewer opportunities for this type of fully unexpected engagement than there should be? People want what they want and that desire is usually familiar. That’s what consumer economies and capitalism are built on—you know what you want and you can get it. Is this why experimental or avant garde work must always be on the margins, whether it wants to be or not? Is it always by definition “not what I expect or want?” Still, “experimental” and “unexpected” are not synonymous here—Falcon Lake is, largely, a work of beautiful realism.

I have heard people say about various experiences “It wasn’t what I expected at all.” Sometimes the speaker is offering this as criticism. But not always. Sometimes it indicates surprise and happiness, and I envy those moments and the people inhabiting their mystery.

Of course, accidents of sorts can provide this. As the Dean of Arts, Humanities, and Social Sciences at my institution (for 3 more days), I attend tons of performances, especially in the arts. One evening, I went to see our students perform the play She Kills Monsters. I knew what to expect, as I had read the materials ahead of time, but wow was I wrong. The lead actress, in the middle of the performance, became ill and the show had to be halted...sort of. What followed was unexpected and something I will always remember—the rest of the cast talked the audience through the remaining scenes where the lead would have played a prominent role, and they sang all of the songs, together, as they were often singing songs that were not “theirs.” I took all this in with wonder and that rush of anxiety that comes with the unexpected. They received a well-deserved standing ovation.

So I’ll ask, what is the last unexpected “thing” you truly enjoyed?

Where do you seek the unexpected? Where do you find it? In books? In music? In the outdoors? Is this something you want more of? I do. It is more important to me than ever to discover and explore these hidden cultural spaces. Maybe there is irony in deliberately seeking the unexpected, but irony isn’t a four-letter word.