Most everyone has a favorite Christmas movie, and I am no exception. But Home Alone and Elf do not do it for me. For decades, we usher in the season with something less traditional but certainly full of more biting wit.
The Lion in Winter is, at its heart, just another movie about the children coming home for Christmas, along with the next-door neighbor attending as well with his half-sister. Except in this case, Daddy is Henry II of England, Mother is Eleanor of Aquitaine, and the neighbor is Philip II of France. The children are the three sons who are vying to follow Daddy as the next king, and the sister goes along with the crown. Just a simple holiday with the Plantagenets.
Among the plethora of pithy lines, I’ve recently been reminded of a one of Eleanor’s delivered by Katharine Hepburn. When accused of having a previous mistress of Henry’s killed, her answer is classic. “No, I never poisoned Rosamund. Oh, I prayed for her to drop and smiled a little when she did.” The succinct response one should give to the current mistress about the former one also works as an example today of one elegant way to answer when death is not necessarily bad news.
In recent days, there has been just such a situation for some folks. Predictably, as I have some very clever friends who also have some very clever friends, quite a few one-liners showed up that brought on more than that little smile. Just as predictably, some other clever friends provided explanations of their complaints against the newly deceased or at least shared someone else’s carefully written and thoughtful treatise on that subject.
Finally, there were those who found it necessary to monitor the halls of social media. They assumed that making the newly deceased a figure of fun or even taking joy in that death speaks about the diseased nature of the person’s heart doing so. More than a little bit judgmental one might say, except saying so itself is a little bit judgmental. I am working on that key Stoic principle to exercise my ability to choose not to have an opinion about things outside my control. (It’s tough, but I’m working on it.)
No doubt there will be more of these deaths in the future which will be expected to some degree and hoped for to some extent. Regardless of where one’s beliefs fall on the spectrum of public opinion, almost everyone is going to get an opportunity to respond publicly to at least one death that brought on a little smile.
Now it’s not my business to tell anyone what they should or should not do. That now applies to this subject as well as when it is appropriate to put up Christmas lights. Joy in the world these days can be hard to find, so I’ll try not to be a killjoy. If someone drops dead and a person responds by dancing in the streets or starting a parade, that is none of my business. Either of those responses are public and will be subject as such to public scrutiny. Proceeding with that in mind is rather an informed choice.
One thing worth considering is how much actual power did the deceased have at the time of death. How much is it worth to celebrate the death of someone who used to have power but now is left with only a remnant of influence, if that? Something to at least think about for those going public with their thoughts.
Of course, what one says or does privately is not what I’m talking about. Break open the good champagne, light your best candles, whatever floats your boat. Do it with those who are like-minded. But remember that many mothers always said, “Be careful what you wish for—you just might get it.”
Mentioning names would not only be crass but presumptive. When folks die, how people respond says a good deal about the deceased. But who says what and how it is said says as much or more about the person putting it out there.
I am reminded of a great lady’s response when asked about an insult that she was aloof, arrogant, and beautiful, but didn’t have her mother’s brains. She gave the definitive dismissive WASP shade, which I hope to have the restraint to use and steal.
Imagine simply saying upon a bit of news that brought about that little smile, “How lovely. He was a charming man, wasn’t he?”
Now that’s deadly.
