A few days ago, I finally caught the film Certified Copy at the local art cinema. Directed and written by Iranian Abbas Kiarostami and starring Juliette Binoche and William Shimell, the movie is an afternoon-long discussion by a man and a woman as they visit a Tuscan town. Their conversation covers a lot of ground and it is never clear whether they are or are not a married couple.
As the story opens, we see that he is an author in town on a Saturday afternoon for a speaking engagement about his new book, in which he argues that copies of masterpieces are as valuable as the originals themselves, in that the copies can bring us to the originals and a greater appreciation of them. She is in the audience but has to leave early, giving her number to the organizer of the event.
The following morning, he shows up at her shop and she drives him to a nearby town to see a famous painting there that was, after hundreds of years being assumed to be an original work, determined eventually to be a copy. It is on that journey that their conversation happens.
I won’t talk about the film as a whole, although it is worth watching. What struck me, so much so that I grabbed a notepad from my bag and scribbled it down, was a phrase uttered by a secondary character.
The man and woman stop for a coffee at a small shop. The man steps outside to take a phone call and the old lady running the shop speaks with the woman. She assumes that the man and woman are married, an assumption the woman does nothing to dispel. In fact, the woman complains about her husband’s long absences for work, propensity to shave only every other day, and his other faults.
The old woman running the shop observes that it is a Sunday morning and the man has taken his wife out for some coffee, whereas most men would instead choose to sleep in. “It would be stupid of us to ruin our lives for an ideal,” she admonishes the woman.
It would be stupid of us to ruin our lives for an ideal.
That line seems a very apt piece of advice, both about relationships (certainly!) as well as our lives in general. It also seems to balance nicely the entry I recently wrote about being the best possible version of ourselves. While perfection cannot be achieved and we should certainly strive to be our best, what is the value of striving if the cost is the ruination of our lives?