Watch the movie. There is something tentative about her. Not fearful, but uncertain. Playful becomes despondent but then, in a flash, charming. You can feel it in her eyes—those dark eyes that roll emotions so effortlessly, two upturned screens of pain and pleasure.
She ignored her beauty in a way that made her more beautiful, just stroking her hair in place, seemingly confident and caring, yet hesitant, those dark eyes sweeping the room, looking for a way to laugh, to escape. Sometimes a feminine tomboy, then bored of herself, now twirling a dress, a rebel with a cause. But there she is, a million images of her captured at 24 frames a second with James Dean and Steve McQueen and Bob, Ted and Alice.
With a wavering hand, she holds out an invitation to you,
then snaps it back, suddenly afraid and confused. You’re just another stranger
who wants… who desires...
Consider her mother, Maria Zakharenko: During a film, when
8-year-old Natalie couldn't cry on cue, her mother ripped off a butterfly’s
wings to provoke tears. (As an adult, Natalie often wore a butterfly necklace).
A 16-year-old Wood was raped by a Hollywood star while her mother waited in a
car outside, subsequently telling her to "suck it up". Her mother, O her
mother…
There is psychoanalysis, seven days a week, for more than
eight years, even stipulating in her film contracts time to attend sessions. The
aesthetics of damage.
Terrified of open water, she succumbs. Santa Catalina Island, hugging the California coastline with the endless Pacific rolling behind. In darkness, she drifts beneath and above, not alone for the Garibaldi fish keep close, wrapping her warm in a long, gold winding sheet.
"At night,” she once said, “when the sky is full of
stars and the sea is still you get the wonderful sensation that you are
floating in space."
As we leave the movie theatre, I turn to you and whisper, "Did you know a butterfly can float beautifully
with damaged wings?"