Less of a review and more of a takeaway and contemplation of what feelings these films provoked in me. 

Emily Dickinson’s poem hums in my mind:

Because I could not stop for Death —
He kindly stopped for me —
…toward Eternity

There is this sense of waiting, both for the actors and for the viewer. It is anxious at times, and in other moments, the anxiety is put on hold for glittering shots of dancing leaves and children’s laughter. 

I have projected this perceived sense of waiting on the actors and this imaginary viewer. It is really my waiting and my anxiety. It swells within me at times, inflaming my joints and making me woozy. 

When I am weary, bed-rotting draws me close. It closes my blinds and pulls a blanket over my cold toes. I whimper and shiver like a dog. 

“The rest is silence.”

Overcome, I find my own glittering, dancing leaves and listen to passerby pattering and chattering as I walk and walk and walk. Sunshine and sustenance revives me. I am as dramatic as a dog and as simple-minded, too.

Good food and good company. 

Cool air and kissing sunshine. 

“On that spring day, as he misplaced all that sense of up and down, he felt, at last, connected to it all.”

I want to be brave.