The Lost Weekend 
Toward the end, Don is fighting himself as much as his addiction; maybe more so. There is desire that had grown rigid with inertia to not allow himself the victory that comes with recognition of hope that there is—or merely could be—something for him beyond eternal misery. Helen leans into him with her words, the typewriter re-appears, Don lights his smoke and saunters to the half-filled glass that he had turned away moments before. Then, he seems not to extinguish his cigarette so much as bear host for an action that had long before put itself in motion. For the moment or for the rest of his life, it doesn't matter: That was the end. Half slumping on his bed in both victory and defeat, Don's mind quickly seems to reel from painting him as the lowest man on Earth to the most hopeful who might ever have ever existed. While allusion to the silent screams for help of countless others is how Don paints us out of his story, this is the same scene that is replayed every minute of every hour across the entire world. Despair defeated by hope, one action at a time.
Published November 06, 2019