A Good Year: Lessons from Uncle Henry

Some gifts we can't receive. Oh, we can hold them in our hands all right, but we can't truly accept them. 

Enter "A Good Year", my favorite movie, starring Russell Crowe. Don't bother checking Rotten Tomatoes - critics hated it. But it hit me at just the right moment, and I find myself returning to it year after year.

Max Skinner, our protagonist, is a London banker who greets his employees with "Good morning, lab rats". He's an asshole, and at 19 I’d heard that descriptor thrown my way a few times.

Max inherits a chateau and vineyard, in a sleepy province in France, from his estranged uncle Henry. It's a gift he can't appreciate. Not yet. His life in London is too busy, it doesn’t allow him to see the beauty of what he’s been given.

Most of the movie involves Max readying the estate for sale, running into characters he hasn’t seen in decades, and reliving memories of childhood summers with his uncle. Memories chock-full of wisdom, that he’s just now starting to understand, and in stark contrast to his current life. 

Max is successful, selfish, and empty. Uncle Henry was a flâneur, generous and fulfilled. The estate, Château Siroque, embodies Henry's teachings - quiet, requiring care, love, and a slow life. In return, it produces the most famed wine in the region (unknown to Max).

There's this powerful moment between Max and Fanny: "This place just doesn't suit my life," Max says. Fanny replies with, "No, Max. It is your life that doesn't suit this place."

Gah, that hits me square in the solar plexus. How many times have I tried to morph something good to suit me? It doesn't work. It's me, the broken object, that has to change.

Later, Max is back in London, eyeing his boss's fake Van Gogh. The real one's locked in a vault. Max asks, "When do you ever see it, Nigel, the real one, when do you look at it? You make late-night pilgrimages down to the vault to see it or?"

Nigel just looks baffled. "What point are you making?"

That's when it clicks for Max. And for me, watching years later. This man he’s seeking the approval of is empty, and that’s his destination unless he hops off the path.

Sometimes, we have to change before we can accept a gift, we have to become the person the gift is meant for.

P.S. To those who taught me the art of savoring life—to slow down, to care, to love , and above all, to find joy in every moment—I raise my glass in gratitude.

P.P.S. It has a lot to do with tables of food, wine, and friends.