An enduring masterpiece

In the summer of 1998, as the nation hurtled towards political Ragnarok, I watched both "Deep Impact" and "Armageddon". An anecdote, possibly apocryphal, appeared in the print media about President Clinton having gone back to the press section of Air Force One to discover the journalists watching "Deep Impact" and spontaneously remarking that "Armageddon" was a better film. He might feel that way because Chelsea has a terminal crush on Billy Bob Thornton, but I suspect it is more likely because Morgan Freeman, whom a reviewer at the time called "the conscience of the movies", played President Tom Beck to such perfection, giving the character such dignity and authority, that his inferiority complex was sparked. It was then that I began to suspect he was lying about Monica Lewinsky. The President in "Armageddon" who orders the nuclear bombs to be futilely set off on the surface of the Texas-size asteroid is sadly more believable. One of the three things from this movie that will always be with me is President Beck, in his address after the comet has been split in half, giving a Yoda-like summation of leadership: "I wish...No. Wishing is wrong."
The second thing is Jenny Lerner watching all of Washington flying west from the roof of MSNBC's Washington headquarters (actually the Housing and Urban Affairs Building). With apologies to Arthur S. DeMoss, the character makes a beautiful choice and I believe she is at peace from that moment on in a way which she had not been before and which most of us will never know. A less arresting but still memorable moment featuring Tea Leoni's character is her conversation with her mother during the surreal period of waiting between the splitting of the comet and the President's final address, which I mention mostly because it reminded me of another greatly underappreciated sci-fi film, "Contact", in which Jodi Foster and Matt McConaghey have an important talk in exactly the same place.
But the third and most powerful thing is the decision by Leo Beiderman and Sarah Hotchler to get married. I watched this movie on the big screen two years ago sitting next to the great (unrequited) love of my life and I still wish she had seen the tears in my eyes as the flute music played and Leo and Sarah took their vows. Even though Leo makes his proposal as a means of saving Sarah and her family's lives, and even though I am chronologically some years older than the characters, it made me believe that the end of the world would be liberating in some ways because there would be no excuses in the form of anticipated long-term difficulties for not doing what we know is right. I want to know that these two stayed together, that they built the first new house in their old neighborhood (after a few months of living in tents and spending all day digging deep enough holes in the mire left by the wave to bury the dead), that Leo became a pillar of his community, and that 35 years later, their children grown except for the youngest, who attends a Midwestern college, they watched a PBS documentary on the cultural repercussions of the comet impact and Leo said to Sarah, "What do they know? They weren't there." If there had been a book, perhaps I could have read all this. But I had to be satisfied with buying the soundtrack, which I listened to this month as I drove through most of the states flooded on I-95 and wondered just exactly what mountain Leo and Sarah are standing on in their final appearance. I don't think I will ever drive that highway without thinking of this movie and how Barry Goldwater might have reacted to the realization of his fondest wish.