My heart may not go on, but I'll never let go

Is it wrong for a 17-year-old male who wishes he played for the Yankees to be writing about Titanic? Well if it is in fact wrong then I don’t want to be right. I spent a good four hours in front of my newly acquired rear-projection HDTV on Saturday night watching the amazingly cliché love story. Now the love story part wasn’t what did it for me, although that is most of the movie, except for the scenes with Bill Paxton’s sidekick, the fat, hairy guy who loved using profanity when talking about great catastrophes. The only explanation for my commitment to the film on Saturday was the in depth historical context of the film. I love how the filmmakers portrayed the different class struggles on so many different levels. The visual comparisons and contrasts between the dining habits, types of entertainment, and topics of discussion of the 1st class passengers and the 3rd class rats, as they were called, very clearly, yet deeply showed the distinction based purely on money. These divisions were present all throughout the film. Even when the boat was sinking and the as water hastily seeped up the stairs of the cellars, the members of the highest echelon of society were being fed and taken care of in every arena, while the residents in the lowest class saw the water rise from their feet to their knees as the gates stayed locked. I find it so interesting how so many story lines can occur in one plot. The struggle of rebellion, the struggle of love, and the struggle of society all have their solos in this symphony of underlying themes; but they all come together so beautifully as an ensemble of one definitive narrative.