We live in an astonishing time, where the very profusion of cultural miracles small and large telescopes their arrival so that they may strike like a meteor, but there's no blast, no apparent damage, and no lasting impact. And then, it's wham, and we're on to the next one.
The second part of this post's title is a phrase I've coined for this and so many other aspects of our age, where suddenly something's everywhere all at once but only for an instant, and Les Miserables, the latest and greatest iteration of Victor Hugo's greatest novel is just another illustration of this tendency.
An absolute masterpiece, with scene after heartbreaking scene of great emotional power, delivered in an entirely new way; even though it's hardly even a skeletal version of the book - more like the most delicate of strands - somehow it captures so much that's essential, and leaves you leaving the theater as if you're Felix Baumgartner (remember him?) landing back on earth after skydiving from space.
But how long before it's forgotten, if it hasn't been already?
Nothing wrong with that. Just an indication that while we live in an age filled with so many miracles with so many of us looking so feverishly for the next one, I wonder how many of us pause sometimes to reflect on just how outrageous our collective good fortune really is?
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