On "The Beach," Life Is Idyllic Until….

Last night’s movie called “The Beach” made me dream about writing blogs. Leonardo DiCaprio is Richard, a hard-partying traveler who meets a crazy Scot named Daffy in a Bangkok fleabag motel, and then finds him dead after he’s killed himself. But before he dies, he gives Richard a map to a Shangri-la where high test weed grows everywhere and a gorgeous beach awaits. He enlists a French couple to join him on a journey, mostly because he is hopelessly in love with Francois, the woman.

After a long journey by rail, boat and jungle trail, and a final bold plunge over a waterfall into a crystal clear pool, they reach the Beach. There is a secret community here, like-minded souls who make do by growing pot and taking twice yearly trips back to civilization for rice and AAA batteries. While life here is indeed idyllic, with volleyball on the pristine beach, plenty of grilled fish, and a charismatic female leader, you know trouble is just around the corner.

It comes when three tribe members are gored by a shark, and emerge bloody from the aquamarine water. With terrible injuries, two die, the the other pleads with the clan to take him to a hospital. No dice, declares charismatic leader, otherwise people will find out about us. So he’s left to rot and moans so much that eventually the tribe bundles him up and leaves him out of earshot in the jungle.

The movie’s narration by Richard shows an increasingly mad, obsessed jungle denizen, and he stalks four newcomers who use a copy of the secret map to try and join the people in the beach. The Thai pot farmers patrol their fields with AK-47s, and after another scene of carnage, a final rendezvous takes place in the main gathering area. “My family eats from these fields,” says the farmer, “and you all must leave the island.” While some stubbornly remain, most meekly paddle back to Bangkok, where they reconnect over email with their long-lost families.