I just got home from watching the ‘Crawdad’ movie. I’m not sure why I was so moved by it, but I kept thinking…how atmospheric and gorgeous the scenery and cinematography were…and how I wished I could write like that.
I haven’t read the book. Reviews say the movie falls short of the book, but I cannot see how. It was a majestic piece of work, in my opinion. The kind of movie that moves me to put my fingers on my keyboard and wax rhapsodic about it.
I did not expect the murder mystery part of it. That was a lovely surprise and kept the story from being another sad sack movie about someone who’d raised themselves without the proper family to look after them. To be honest, I thought it might be a memoir.
It was anything but.
“Where the Crawdad Sings” captured, in the most captivating way, the essence of life. Heroism, individualism, sacrifice, rising above circumstances, the futility of wallowing in self-pity, humility, justice, kindness, generosity, innocence, purity, and more. It is (without being heretical) its own bible, of sorts. Lessons of humanity in ninety, too-short, minutes.
The twist at the end left me breathless, and even more so the mystery of whodunnit left hanging by several threads. This is the kind of device that keeps readers thinking about that movie for a long time…chewing on that last bit. Who did it? Why? How did they get him up there? Did they drag him up there, or did they PRETEND he’d fallen that far? Et cetera. As you can tell, it made quite the impact and I’m still chewing on the ending. Like a luscious, perfectly grilled filet paired with a Caymus red.
Which actually, I’m drinking right now.
Strongly suggest this movie.
