This was clearer than ever at TIFF, where I discovered the joys of being able to turn to total strangers waiting with you in line and discuss Gasper Noe and Werner Herzog.
When you're in a theater waiting for a movie in Tagalog/Taglish/Spanish about deaf kids and THE THEATER IS ALMOST ENTIRELY FULL and then afterwards, everyone is applauding in sign language for the cast and crew, who are present and ready to answer your questions: well, it's a special feeling that I can't properly explain, a quiet little glow of love and knowing.
There's never been anything more special to me than knowing that seeing 23 films in 7 days made me LAZY compared to most of the people I was sitting beside and chatting with.
(and, of course, there was one other TIFF benefit, maybe the biggest of all. I got to meet Angelo, my constant movie companion, and have discussions about feminism in film, Lars von Trier, Romanian film, and George Clooney IN THE REAL LIFE WORLD as we also managed to turn around and see Harvey Weinstein in person. Imagine my non-surprise to discover that watching a movie with Angelo is one of the best experiences around.)
But as fabulous and wonderful as this experience was (and believe me, it was!) my favorite communal movie moment of 2009 is still one I had way back at the beginning of January, in the theater I saw Slumdog Millionaire in.
Wait, what?
Yes, as most of you know, BEST PICTURE WINNER Slumdog Millionaire was one of my least favorite movies of last year. Did I get lucky and have a crowd that turned on this manipulative scattershot mess of a film? Oh, if only.
No, it was a moment with the trailers that got me, that gets me still.
We saw the trailer for Star Trek, see.
Now, by the time this January screening rolled around I had seen this trailer about 20 gazillion times. I'd seen it the day it premiered, I'd seen it preceding other movies, I'd seen and seen and seen it. This is the business of being a movie nerd: trailers. And when you throw a big old GEEKTASTIC SUMMER MOVIE on top of that, well, come on now. By January and Slumdog, I knew that trailer back and forth. I guess I was excited. I mean, I'm not a J.J. Abrams fangirl, I'm not a Trek fangirl, but, sure, why not?
When this trailer began, I don't think I even noticed it. But the second the little boy spits out that his name is "James Tiberius Kirk" I heard the guy behind me let out an audible gasp and then not so quietly whisper, his voice bubbling with excitement: "No way!!" He let out a laugh then and he proceeded to spend the rest of the trailer gasping, shifting around in his seat.
Now, I don't know anything about this guy. I never even turned around to look at him. He clearly wasn't a Trekkie that saw this the first second it hit the Internet or even a big 'movie nerd' that knew about trailers. I'm not sure why this excited him so much, really, but it clearly did. And while this guy was a total stranger, at the same time, I totally KNOW him. His sheer, undeniable excitement, his disbelief in seeing this trailer I'd seen a hundred times,the JOY in his voice, the fizzy half-laugh that followed ... not only do I know this guy, heck, I AM this guy.
That reaction, that helpless moment of love and glee when something you see delights, surprises and excites you? That's why I go to the movies, that's the little buzz I never get tired of.
When I saw Star Trek in the theaters, four months later, in my little town of 12,000 people, where 62% of the population has a bachelor's degree and 37% has a graduate degree, the moment when Bones shouts, "Damn-it man, I'm a doctor, not a physicist!" the theater broke out into loud smatterings of applause and uncontrollable laughter. That happened because there's something about this place, this crowd, that took on a special interpretation of those words, one that could never be recreated. AND it was because it was a pop culture touchstone, words that mean something.
And I love movies for that too, for words and moments that mean something, that bring us together in moments when we feel so different. This is trite, I know, cliched, and silly, but I've FELT it, I've been there. I know it's true.
I felt it watching Star Trek (which grossed about $150 million at the box office) and I felt it watching Einaym Pkuhot (Eyes Wide Open) an Israeli film about Orthodox Jewish men in a forbidden love affair.
I've seen a lot of movies this year. I can't wait to see many more. Now's the time of year they get good and serious and plotty and arty and award-y. And I love that too, I sure can't wait.
But that moment during the Star Trek trailer, that incredulous and thrilled and impossible to predict or fake reaction from a total stranger I'll never know or see again, it was a moment unlike any other so far and it brings me back to only one conclusion:
THAT'S what movies are for.
This weekend (ten months later) when I curl up with my Star Trek DVD and sink right into it, when I realize it turned out I was a Trek fangirl all along, I just didn't know it at the time: I'll feel it, know it, all over again.
if there's one person I never trust, it's a woman who says that she doesn't have any female friends.
Almost always, this statement is then followed up by something about how women are catty and it's so much easier to be friends with men and there's so much less drama and women are just out to sabotage other women.
This is utterly baffling to me.
My whole life, I have been surrounded by tight groups of girlfriends. I have found solace, companionship, and strength with women. They are my oldest and dearest friends, at every stage of my life.
I only talk to Rainbeaux and Dori and Amber a few times a year, and see them even less, but if they called tomorrow and needed a kidney, I'd be on the next plane to strap myself down to the gurney. They shaped my high school existence: the gossip, the mean girl experience, the adventures, the clubs, the nights out. (did you know I was a mean girl in high school? True!) And there were dozens of others (Nichole, April, Shawna) too many now for me to even list and remember, there were so constant, so present in every moment, my girls.
College was much the same, Katie, Andrea, Ellen, Valerie, Sara ... not all of these connections ended up being lifelong, but they were all necessary to my happiness, my mental well-being, my personal growth in those college years, my good times.
And then when I came back to Raton to work, the pattern flowered again, Stancie and Chelle, then Tally, Angel, and Aimee, my sisters, co-workers, best friends in all things and all adventures, there for every moment, every crisis, every part of my life. They made Raton bearable, livable, wonderful.
Coming back to college again, I had far fewer friends, but it was no surprise for me to find the best ones, were girls (Liz, Michelle, Elena) including one to join the pantheon of my forever sisterfriends, women I'll be friends with until the very end: Cat.
When I started making 'online' friendships, it was no surprise to me to find the majority of my confidants and friends were girls: Taryn, Ashley, Susie, Leslie, Whitney, Steph, Chrissy, Mindy, Jen, Betty, Jessica, Lea, Michelle, Kelly: I literally could not list all the women who've made the 'virtual' world such a comfort and solace for me, who've been there for me at all hours of the day and know my story backwards and forwards, whose kind words have sometimes been all I had.
Even my sister is closer to me than my brother, exasperating and exhausting as she can be, I know she'd slit the throat of anyone who dared hurt me, wipe off the knife and not blink twice.
Then came Mississippi, where I vowed to never have friends and found, instead, my library girls, who understand my professional and personal woes on a level I never expected, who are there to lend professional advice AND go out dancing. My sympathizers, empathizers, and cheerleaders: my best friends and secret keepers, the ones who know the road I've walked, the adult women who nod their heads and know what I do.
This is not to say, of course, that I have never had men friends. No, I've always had friendships with men, sometimes complicated and sometimes simple, they've always been in my world, in my circle.
But even so: girls, women, ladies, broads, chicks: they're my friends and, perhaps more importantly, they are my people. You name a stereotypical activity for women friends to engage in and not only have I've done it, I've loved it: shoe shopping, bachelorette parties, ice cream and romantic comedies, Cosmos and Sex in the City, burning items from an ex-boyfriend, karoke, sleepovers and makeovers, check and check and check, let's do it all again.
If you're a woman and you don't have women friends, you're missing out, and there's something fundamental and essential I can't explain to you. For as long as I can remember, for my whole life, there's one thing I've known to be true: I'd be lost without my girls, there's just no other way around it.
And so imagine my surprise to look around and find my two best friends were men.
Mike and Elliot are about as opposite of two people as you can get. If I tried to design two people more different, I'd fail.
And yet, in their hearts, they have one thing in common: they both love me.
I couldn't do without my girls, but Elliot and Mike know my secret heart, listen to me cry, challenge me to do better, hold my hands virtually in person, tell me to get up and go on. They rejoice in my joy and success and say they're sorry for my hurts and sorrows.
They anchor me in the good of who I am and push me forward into the good I can be.
Elliot, my better half, challenges me to work harder, think more, rise to the challenge, and live a life that matters to the world. Mike, my beating heart, makes me laugh when I am sobbing and helps me process world events and personal earthquakes with the same unwavering consistency.
Surprise, surprise: a lifetime of the greatest women you could ever hope for as friends and here I find myself: two men as the best friends I could ever want.
ex-boyfriend: remember? we were dating at new year's? me: oh yeah, and I kissed (other boy) because you were drunk. ex-boyfriend: you're such a filthy whore! me: pshaw! that's what you liked about me. ex-boyfriend: so very true.
So, I might not be 'pure' ... but I like what I am just fine. And, uhm, fuck you very much otherwise.
[needed just a little break as I was having just a little breakdown, but hey, breakdown's not going anywhere so, as Mike says: onward, onward, onward. daily public blogs continue but if I were you, I'd keep an eye on the protected area too.]
the best feeling in the world
The way your mouth feels after spending five minutes scrubbing every inch of your teeth with the deliciously foamy Aquafresh toothpaste?
Being 31 years old and laughing with friends you've had since you were 10?
In the middle of winter, turning the heat up and taking a bath so hot it kinda stings your skin?
Fighting (and flirting) about hipsters and feminism with a beautiful boy over drinks after live music?
A hug from your mother?
How a patron smiles when they see you, says your name, calls you cool?
Waking up in the middle of the night, spending a few seconds disoriented, before realizing you have a couple more hours to sleep?
The sight of 40 toddlers dancing to Bruce Springsteen?
The moment you know, without words, that you and your best friend are thinking the exact same thing?
How the first snow feels when you turn your face up to the sky and close your eyes?
When a boy who adores you tucks your hair behind your ear and beeps your nose?
No. Not quite any of those ...
The best feeling in the world is being cuddled up in bed, with an amazing book that you don't want to stop reading, your eyes falling closed as you try to get just.one.more.page in, finally giving in to the tidal wave of sleep and putting your bookmark in, knowing that the next day, the entire world waits between the covers, more to read, more to experience, more for you to fall right back into.
That's the best feeling in the world.
[Thanks for the reminder this time around, Julia Golding!]
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