today

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August and movies seem to go together.
 
One of the ways I’ve been caring for myself—watching a movie at night. Undistracted. Hand’s free of phone or hobby. 
 
Just watching.

The French Connection has not aged well. The racism is painful. I turned it off.
 
Portrait of a Lady on Fire. Like looking at a painting. Steamy.
 
Cinema Paradiso. I’ll watch it forever—the feeling of warmth in my heart.
 
Like Moonstruck.
 
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen it. Its beauty is never lost on me. 
 
Olympia Dukakis. A master.
 
The kitchen table. The New York cabs.
 
The way Ronny wants Loretta. Put that on repeat. 
 
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In the before times, I went to a matinee most Friday afternoons. On my own or with a friend. The best is being in a theatre—TIFF or the Varsity. 
 
I like it when I can reserve seats. People talk about the cost. It’s one of my drugs of choice with a side of popcorn.
 
Maybe this is the fall and winter I take a film course or join a film club. 
 
Talking about great movies after. That stuff’s magic dust.

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