Fitting choice for the times, I believe? I watched this movie several years ago and wasn’t a huge fan; upon rewatching in the midst of the current quarantine hysteria, I have a newfound appreciation for the casual apocalypse genre. I love the movie’s dry humor and related, particularly, to Keira Knightley’s character, Penny, but also was always slightly creeped out by the age difference between her and Steve Carrell’s character, Dodge. The movie is called seeking a “friend” at the end of the world but the story inevitably turns romantic, which always seemed like a need for it to end “happy” despite a literal asteroid hurtling towards Earth. There’s no way to end other than death. Still, most American film storylines always have to end happily in some way, so the romance was their measly attempt at that. Best character, however? The dog named Sorry, so named because of his previous owner abandoning him with Dodge with a “sorry” note.

The apocalypse in this film is slightly different than the one we are currently dealing with; no one hoards food and toilet paper in the movie because they’re all gonna die in three weeks, so it’s fairly pointless (it’s fairly pointless now too, but tell that to the guy buying ten bags of toilet paper and leaving nothing for those who actually need it). Everyone is also desperately traveling and going outside and having wild orgies, which is the opposite of what we’re doing: staying cooped inside and avoiding other people by at least six feet. 

It says something to be watching a movie about the literal apocalypse and think; wow that sounds better than what we have right now. Because the thing about an asteroid hurtling towards Earth: it’s all equal. No matter how rich you are, whether you’re a celebrity or a cleaning lady, you’re all fucked. You will all die and everyone is brought to their knees despite all of the rules we’ve made up in society like “class” and “important figures.” During a virus, however, no one is equal. Right now in the US, celebrities and rich folk are being tested and treated, whereas those who can’t afford insurance or aren’t Idris Fuckin Elba have to just hope for the best. Meanwhile, states are voting against the one and only candidate who wants free and comprehensive healthcare, during a goddamn pandemic.

It’s not all bad, of course. Looking out my bedroom window after watching this movie, there are more people outside than I’ve ever seen in my time living here. Children playing in the streets, teenagers biking and skating down the sidewalks, folks doing yard work and smiling at each other passing by (giving everyone a six feet berth, of course). Despite the fear, neighbors are still having conversations from across the street, their dogs pulling at the leashes in an attempt to interact with each other. There’s still a lot of beauty in this world even during the apocalypse, and I think casual apocalypse movies like Seeking a Friend attempt to show that. So let’s be kind, be compassionate, but give each other space, and maybe we’ll get out of this alive. 

Note: I went to New York about a week before the real madness hit, and so this poem is more in response to the trip/corona than to the movie. 

Seeking a Friend At the End of the World (2012), or Holding Hands During the Apocalypse

stepping off the bus into the city, my neck cranes upwards, gazing at the buildings as if they are trees,
pine branches extending towards the heavens.

we weave through streets, avoiding potholes and bags of garbage, unruly stones in the pathway. someone coughs and we jump,
hurrying faster. 

the apartment is at 80 Park Avenue, the lights of corporate Metlife blinking at us like ashy stars, the hum of Grand Central trains and subway cars rumbling beneath our feet,
unquiet roots. 

the queen bed envelops me,  a cocoon, his arms around my shoulders. all i can think about is how sweat clings to us as morning dew clings to blades of grass, and how much i want to kiss his pomegranate lips but it’s 3 am
and outside, sirens are screaming.

at this point they’re saying stay six feet away from other people, as we hold hands and wander through Time Square, steam rising from vents, smoking beds of fire. a man waving tickets leans towards us yelling,
“Comedy Central shows, we got corona”

stop going to restaurants, people are texting, as i stare at the plate of sushi before me, the seats around us nearly empty and the TV screen above the bar
is white, blaring, a bird’s warning call. 

hiking the Appalachian trail is nothing, i know now, walking twelve miles through a diseased city, hands slightly shaking as i take pictures with my phone, swiping away news articles popping up, unwanted weeds receding,
further, into the dirt. 

bile rises in my throat, staring at the horses chained to carriages, bones sticking out of flanks and heads cast downward, pigeons raiding their buckets of food. she merely flicks her tail, chewing slow, and i want to leave, i want to leave, but her image keeps me there,
bit in my teeth, the taste metallic. 

the waves next to battery park smell of sewage and salt but tourists are covering their mouths for an entirely different reason. a homeless man nearby hides behind a sign scrawled, i might as well be invisible, and i wonder if the first people who experienced an avalanche ran away or simply
waited and watched as it drew closer.

on the final night, i lean over the edge of the balcony’s precipice, shining empire state looming mountainous, and i imagine the ground below is a dark lake, yawning up at me, and promising,
gently, to swallow me whole.