Keepsakes, If Not Forever

Some Comments on Ian Cheney’s film, “Arc of Oblivion”
By Mountain Shadow Director, John Bennison

“I met a traveler from an antique land …
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
Percy Shelley (1792-1822)

We live in an age when data storage and the ever-looming threat of losing it is one of life’s greatest challenges. We’ve gone from the days of “I’ve got your back,” to the daily warning that the stored data you hold in the palm of your hand hasn’t been backed up recently. So, we relegate everything we’ve stored and filed to a “cloud” of unknowing; to assure ourselves we won’t lose anything and everything that’s presumable so important to us.

Actually, in some ways, all that data we’ve saved might not be much different from all the clutter we’ve stashed away in our garage or attic. Remember the 8-track or cassette player you’ve got somewhere? Or the rollerblades you last used how long ago? It’s the familiar life cycle of acquisition and dispossession. We spend the first part collecting stuff; then, at some point, we start trying to figure out what to keep, what to get of, and what – if anything – will last. That which is of lasting value we sometimes call keepsakes.

So, what from this world is worth saving? Whatever might endure? That’s the challenging quest posed by filmmaker Ian Cheney in his unique documentary film and personal quest, “The Arc of Oblivion.” He begins by referencing the mythic tale of Noah’s ark. As the story goes, the planet is doomed, and the one virtuous hero must decide what to keep aboard the ark he’s built; and what to abandon to the floodwaters that will put an end to everything else. The filmmaker also mentions the Epic of Gilgamesh, the Mesopotamian tale spun thousands of years before. It’s a poem about a king’s exploits, and the oft-repeated search for immortality; instead of everything and everyone being cast into, well, oblivion.

When I first previewed Ian Cheney’s film about his shipbuilding endeavor I asked myself, is the film’s title supposed to be spelled ark, or arc? Both come from the Latin word, ‘arca,’ meaning ‘container.’ So perhaps there’s meant to be the double-meaning of the limited capacity of finitude; and the over-arching reassurance of impermanence. As documentarian filmmaker Werner Herzog puts it at the end of the film,

“I am impressed by the title ‘Arc of Oblivion,’ because I see it very much from the side of oblivion. I think oblivion is a blessing. It is a great blessing because it would be unlivable existence if we remembered everything. … You have to discard. You have to get accustomed to the idea that what we have created not only physically but memories can be destroyed easily. There’s no stability. And I don’t find it alarming. That’s very human. When I’m done with a film I throw everything away that’s not in the movie itself. And a carpenter doesn’t sit on his shavings either.” Werner Herzog