Having set out on an exploration of world literature as I read Clifton Fadiman's delightful "The New Lifetime Reading Plan," I was delighted to find this short film about the first known masterpiece in the global canon.
This elegantly illustrated program provides an introduction to a millenia-old poem on such universal themes as sex and love, loss and grief, mortality, and wisdom.
"We need to know that 3,000 years ago, creatures lived on this earth who felt the same way we do," says an Iranian writer, one of about a dozen artists and scholars who speak movingly about the work.
Here we learn a little about Gilgamesh, a god-king who begins as a "completely out-of-control" bad boy who would fight constantly and bed his subjects on their wedding nights. He ruled over Uruk (an early echo of "Iraq"), near present-day Baghdad. The gods dispatch the earthy Enkidu to confront Gilgamesh, and, after a battle of 40 days and 40 nights, the two conclude that they are equals and become friends. At some point, the gods send someone else to influence Gilgamesh -- this time it's a temple prostitute. And, while many other epics have the female character "stay behind," we're told, in this case she provides a civilizing effect -- someone who through intercourse ignites transformational change in the hero.
Along the way, we learn that Saddam Hussein, before the Second Gulf War, said that "perhaps like Gilgamesh, he'd go off and meditate for a while."
This beyond-ancient, anonymous poem was originally inscribed in cuneiform on tablets -- "it looks like chickens walked across clay," an Assyriologist tells us. The original had broken into shards before being lost for 2,000 years and eventually was translated. Many passages remain missing, but that's apparently part of the work's charm.
"I don't know if it would be as intriguing if there were not 100 ellipses," opines a contributing translator.
The epic explores issues of mortality surrounding the passing of Enkidu. For seven days, Gilgamesh attends to his friend's body, unable to accept the finality of death -- until a worm drops from Enkidu's nose. Indeed, "shocking physical detail is meant to make your skin crawl," we learn.
In one of many references that help us to see the continuing relevancy of a primeval text, one of the commentators, a children's-book illustrator, describes how her daughter ended up in a coma after a car accident, leaving the artist grappling with fears about mortality. "When you love someone, you feel this cannot happen," she said about death. (This artist illustrated a version of the tale in which Gilgamesh has feathers on his arms, as Sumerians believed that when people died they turned into birds.)
The epic captures ageless sentiments touching on loss, recovery, and "what's left after someone you love has died. You have to overcome this kind of pain."
After Gilgamesh finally accepts the reality of death, he sets out on yet another journey, this time in search of immortality, during which he learns of a devastating flood that occurred eons earlier -- yes, similar to the deluge involving Noah. Indeed, Gilgamesh contains many passages that seem to presage the Bible, leading some to believe that the Bible is comprised of stories that had been circulating throughout the Middle East for centuries.
In Gilgamesh's quest for ever-lasting life, he obtains a plant that is promised to rejuvenate him. However, it is stolen by a serpent, prompting Gilgamesh to return to the city -- "consolation for the brevity of existence."
Indeed, humans are born, live, and die. A message of Gilgamesh is, "Until the last moment comes, live your life with joy," says a Japanese choreographer who staged the epic story. "It is a Zen idea."
We also hear from a guitar-playing middle-school teacher who wrote a song about the legend and taught it to students who went on to sing it on their own. "I got it into their heads," he said, "and it'll stay there!" Such is the impact of art across the centuries.
This elegantly illustrated program provides an introduction to a millenia-old poem on such universal themes as sex and love, loss and grief, mortality, and wisdom.
"We need to know that 3,000 years ago, creatures lived on this earth who felt the same way we do," says an Iranian writer, one of about a dozen artists and scholars who speak movingly about the work.
Here we learn a little about Gilgamesh, a god-king who begins as a "completely out-of-control" bad boy who would fight constantly and bed his subjects on their wedding nights. He ruled over Uruk (an early echo of "Iraq"), near present-day Baghdad. The gods dispatch the earthy Enkidu to confront Gilgamesh, and, after a battle of 40 days and 40 nights, the two conclude that they are equals and become friends. At some point, the gods send someone else to influence Gilgamesh -- this time it's a temple prostitute. And, while many other epics have the female character "stay behind," we're told, in this case she provides a civilizing effect -- someone who through intercourse ignites transformational change in the hero.
Along the way, we learn that Saddam Hussein, before the Second Gulf War, said that "perhaps like Gilgamesh, he'd go off and meditate for a while."
This beyond-ancient, anonymous poem was originally inscribed in cuneiform on tablets -- "it looks like chickens walked across clay," an Assyriologist tells us. The original had broken into shards before being lost for 2,000 years and eventually was translated. Many passages remain missing, but that's apparently part of the work's charm.
"I don't know if it would be as intriguing if there were not 100 ellipses," opines a contributing translator.
The epic explores issues of mortality surrounding the passing of Enkidu. For seven days, Gilgamesh attends to his friend's body, unable to accept the finality of death -- until a worm drops from Enkidu's nose. Indeed, "shocking physical detail is meant to make your skin crawl," we learn.
In one of many references that help us to see the continuing relevancy of a primeval text, one of the commentators, a children's-book illustrator, describes how her daughter ended up in a coma after a car accident, leaving the artist grappling with fears about mortality. "When you love someone, you feel this cannot happen," she said about death. (This artist illustrated a version of the tale in which Gilgamesh has feathers on his arms, as Sumerians believed that when people died they turned into birds.)
The epic captures ageless sentiments touching on loss, recovery, and "what's left after someone you love has died. You have to overcome this kind of pain."
After Gilgamesh finally accepts the reality of death, he sets out on yet another journey, this time in search of immortality, during which he learns of a devastating flood that occurred eons earlier -- yes, similar to the deluge involving Noah. Indeed, Gilgamesh contains many passages that seem to presage the Bible, leading some to believe that the Bible is comprised of stories that had been circulating throughout the Middle East for centuries.
In Gilgamesh's quest for ever-lasting life, he obtains a plant that is promised to rejuvenate him. However, it is stolen by a serpent, prompting Gilgamesh to return to the city -- "consolation for the brevity of existence."
Indeed, humans are born, live, and die. A message of Gilgamesh is, "Until the last moment comes, live your life with joy," says a Japanese choreographer who staged the epic story. "It is a Zen idea."
We also hear from a guitar-playing middle-school teacher who wrote a song about the legend and taught it to students who went on to sing it on their own. "I got it into their heads," he said, "and it'll stay there!" Such is the impact of art across the centuries.
