I loved Avatar. It’s a movie I could see again (have done so twice) and will continue to think about as if I had visited the setting, maybe lived there—or might some day. On Pandora, a benevolent force pervades, the inhabitants see themselves and others as equals and see beyond the outer shell, to the nature. They can look on a twisted body and see the spirit, not the flesh. The voices of ancestors remain, memories drifts like petals. People suffer, but good triumphs. And the good is recognizable, not a blurred maybe. Movies like that put everyday reality on hold and lend validity to personal beliefs and hopes, at least for a while. Surely this world is absolutely as beautiful as Pandora, or could be. Now, there are weaknesses in the movie, but to look too closely would sort of unseam the illusion. On Pandora, compassion is a trait revered and fostered. So be it. Please.
I saw Sherlock Holmes the same day. It was visually pleasing. But the best part was Jude Law, his face and his grace. He seemed more Holmes than he did Watson. I missed the gentle doctor. I missed the sense of mystery, too.