I love movies. I love the thrill of them, the cinematography, the way they move you, the way they lift you up and make you soar, or the way they quietly affect you and alter your point of view.
I love big ridiculous blockbusters, loaded with special effects and noises, that don’t care about plot lines or character development, which require you to check your sense of disbelief in at the door.
I love subtle, story-driven movies that pull you along, relying on subtle emotions and plot points to convey a simple message.
I love complex thrillers, twisting and turning, bemusing me as I second guess the next scene, leaving me gasping at the final reveal.
I love old movies, caught in times past, evoking the glamour of Hollywood in lavish technicolour.
There are very few movies I won’t watch. Horror and I don’t get on too well but we have an agreement (I don’t choose to watch them very often, but when I do they try and be smart about how they scare me). And some movies just aren’t really anything, they’re aren’t bad enough to be addictive (all bad things are addictive!) nor good enough to stick in my brain.
I love movies.
Although I fear the tense has changed.
The problem is … and I guess it’s time I confess … well … you see, the thing about movies and I is … well we seem to have had a falling out. One of those “he said”, “she said” arguments that never lead anywhere and start from nothing. I’m not sure how it happened really, I can’t pinpoint it but, well, I guess sometimes you just move on, eh?
Thing is … and don’t tell the movies this… but I kinda miss them, I don’t want to move on. I miss the anticipation, I miss the stories, I miss the happy endings, the sad endings, the laughing and the crying.
Awww to heck with it, movies, if you are out there, and you are listening, please PLEASE COME BACK TO ME!!! Maybe one of my old friends will hear my plea… Shawshank for example, he was always pretty dependable…