It's been nearly 6 months since I last wrote anything and I wish I could say that this post is going to be amazing and make you glad that I'm back but I can't. I can't because it's 2 AM and I just got home from an IMAX screening of Interstellar and I have so many thoughts in my head and I'm too stubborn to test the theory that "I couldn't even sleep right now if I tried." So instead I shall word vomit and you can read this or not, I don't really care because I'm mainly writing this for my own sanity. Over the past couple of months I've started to notice something. Rather, I've started forming thoughts about something that I've noticed about myself for a long time now and it has to do with film and how it affects me. I'm sure that build up didn't lead you to what you were expecting, but surprise this is a post about me and movies and yes it probably will be as dumb as it sounds so bye.
A thing I started doing last year here at NYU and have continued to do even more this year is to attend pre-release screenings of major films. Some are set up exclusively for students and some are for the general public that NYU students get invited to. The fact that I'm seeing these films early really has nothing to do with anything except they're free, so the majority of movies I've seen this past semester alone have taken place under these circumstances. But something that happens after every movie is that I have a long trek home to contemplate and think about what I just saw. Of the movies that I've seen this semester, a large percentage of them have left me in a hugely emotional state. These states usually wear off with time or with the distraction of Tisch students' conversations about the sounds and graphics and whatever else they have knowledge about that I don't. But sometimes they turn in to emotional breakdowns or, in this case, late night blog rants. Some of it has to do with whatever I just saw, a lot of it has to do with personal reflection.
Overall, this year, 2014, has been a four letter word (or maybe five?). Maybe that's not a fair summation because good things and happy moments have occurred and I don't want to sound ungrateful for them. And before anyone thinks that this is me feeling sorry for myself, well maybe I am, but to appease you let me just say that I know that I am loved and I am more thankful for my life and everything that has happened in it, even the bad, because everything has a purpose and I know that. BUT. A lot's happened, a lot of change and a lot of hurt and a lot of other things. But out of all that I've started to focus on myself more, take care of myself more. I don't want to say something cliché like, "this year I have learned more about myself than I ever have before" because I haven't learned anything concrete really. I'm still Madi. I haven't changed, necessarily. But I've adapted because I've had to, and I've started exploring just a small portion all the different things I can be.
A few years back a movie staring Robert Pattinson came out called Remember Me and it was not very significant to anyone and that's way fine because the movie wasn't really good anyways. But that movie did something that, to me, was unforgivable. Long story short, (oh, and SPOILER ALERT) the end of the movie, which is a romantic drama where a girl meets a guy with major daddy issues on both ends, is tied in with the attacks on the World Trade Center and it is the most twisted and unnecessary things known to man. As a teenager I remember watching in horror as I realized what was happening and doing more than sobbing, I was trembling and I was angry. After, some random woman in the bathroom cautiously approached me and asked me if I was alright as I was visibly upset. I remember thinking that if that was how I, a young girl with no direct personal connection to the events of 9/11, felt watching that scene that it would be absolute torture for those who did. This is an extreme example, obviously. But it was the first time I can remember being so affected by film (in this rare case, negatively).
Movies make us laugh, movies make us cry. It's natural, nothing is really that strange about it. It's part of what they're meant to do. But for me, sometimes it does more. And it's something I don't really talk about, at least I never have before, because I don't like to talk about it. Also, because I've never really known how.
You see, I have a passion for film. A lot of films, at least a lot of the ones I've seen recently, leave me contemplating more than what was on the screen, more than the lives of the characters. They lead me to contemplating me, myself, my life. Maybe it's because this year has been an emotional roller coaster and movies, while they are an escape for the duration of their running time, bring me back to that roller coaster once they end. I find myself relating to situations that literally have no relation to myself at all. That's amazing to me, because someone created something that made that connection. Film is an art. So are books. All of it is art and they all have meaning and purpose and they are supposed to make us feel something.
The problem is that I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with these feelings. I have a passion for film. I have no passion for creating it, though. I have no creativity, no ability or talent to make something of my own, and I'm not sure I'd ever even want to. I just have this incredible (and useless?) ability of consuming it and enjoying it to it's fullest. I'm every directors dream. I enjoy what they've made, I don't ask a lot of questions, I just care about it. A lot. But I can't do anything with that. Can I? No is the answer, I'm nearly certain. It's just funny because I find myself caring so much about what these people create and what I view but it can't be returned because it's a one way street. And nothing comes of it except for overreactions and dramatics and crappy blogging, like so.
So tonight I went and saw Interstellar, Christopher Nolan's first work since The Dark Knight trilogy ended. I paid $20 to see it in IMAX and I have no regrets. When it ended, I was, again, overwhelmed with emotion, but I wasn't in the mood to say anything about anything, especially the movie. I just wanted to be quiet, to let it sink in. I didn't want to pick it apart and I didn't want to destroy any little bit of it. I wanted to enjoy it for what it was (which is perfect, by the way, it's perfection) and leave it be and hold on to my overwhelming adoration for the human being that is Matthew McConaughey and the church organs that made up the score as they played over and over and over in my head as I rode the train home and walked back in the rain. This doesn't really spoil anything, so if you're planning on seeing it (which you will if you have any sense) don't freak out because I'm not saying anything more than what was published in Entertainment Weekly (EW). There is this idea in the movie that love is the only thing that transcends space and time, that it's not something stupid that we humans make up but rather that it is scientific, but more than just on the level of procreation. I won't say any more because Anne Hathaway explains it better, but it's a fascinating idea that I'd like to believe is true.
Like I warned, this post really has no point other than me emptying out my brain. It's pretty empty now, actually, so empty that I don't know how to end this. So I'll just end with a quote from Christopher Nolan that was in EW:
"A lot of my job is what you might call scientific. I have always tried to pour myself into the technical side of filmmaking, the things I can control. I relate to the struggle to quantify the elements that are giving you an emotional response. That always feels impossible to me. But I keep trying. A film being more than the sum of its parts is a true mystery."
Maybe it's because I have the complete opposite struggle as you, Mr. Nolan, but I can promise you that you certainly achieved whatever you thought impossible.