More Feelings #1

Welcome to More Feelings! In this bi-weekly column, I’ll share the things I’d tell you if we just walked out of a movie theater after watching something together. I’ll also share things I’d text you after seeing something on my own so we could discuss it after you’ve had a chance to watch it yourself.

For me, it’s never as simple as watching something and moving on. There’s always a bit more to think about. And yes, my family loves that I have been like this since the age of 11 (when I spent far too much time trying to get someone to drive me to see arthouse films I couldn’t possibly understand). 

I tend to gravitate toward other people who love dissecting, riffing on, and actively learning from the films they watch. This isn’t to say that there’s always something in the text itself; most of the time, I’m much more interested in the experience of watching something. In many ways, the COVID-19 pandemic has either flattened such experiences or made them less visible.

Since most of us are (hopefully) watching movies at home while isolated, we’ve lost the ability to have impromptu conversations in lobbies, parking lots, and nearby bars or coffee shops that allow us to obsess, complain, and laugh about things screened with crowds of strangers. In many ways, Hyperreal’s reviews, essays, and social media posts have filled that gap for me during this tumultuous year. That’s why I wanted to contribute something a bit more personal and conversational to this community that cares so much about movies, people, and what exists between them. (FYI: If you’re reading this, we can totally be best friends.)

To simulate the coziness of a dark movie theater while spending the year at home, I’ve learned to turn off every light and close every curtain in my bedroom before casting a film from my phone, opening one of my 562 streaming apps, or connecting my TV and laptop with an HDMI cable. I block time on my calendar to watch films uninterrupted and I sometimes hit play at the same time as friends in faraway places so that we can stream, text, and try to escape on the same schedule. In some ways, the points of mutual recognition gleaned through text are even more meaningful because the consumption experience has become fragmented.

It takes a lot to mimic the unique feeling of communal immersion that a theater can create, but I have worked hard to adapt because I simply must go to the movies somehow. Even at home, a good film tames my anxiety and commands my attention like little else can. If anything, my feelings about what I’ve been watching at home have only intensified given that the world outside feels like it’s changing shape so rapidly.

INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS Feelings 

I recently rewatched INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS on my birthday. It’s a film I revisit about once a year because it feels removed from recognizable time and space. This vague in-between is where the titular character lives. He couch surfs through one of those imaginary time periods in American history people foolishly romanticize and he can’t seem to crack the folk music scene following the suicide of his former collaborator. The record they made together follows him like a curse. When someone who might give him a job asks “Are you comfortable with harmonies?” he says “No.” He seems much more comfortable carrying his grief from place to place than processing it.

Llewyn Davis exists within an immersive, stylized portrayal of the Greenwich Village music scene just before Bob Dylan entered the picture. This was a deliberate narrative choice by Joel and Ethan Coen; if Bob and Llewyn were direct competitors, there would be no story about this man from the “before” time. He has no place to fit and no path to happiness.

Throughout the film, Llewyn tries and fails to take care of a cat named Ulysses and several people around him. He is difficult, stubborn, probably very smelly, and perhaps too relatable to me, a person who has always been creative, anxious, and frustrated. When asked about the future by a woman who might love him, Llewyn jokes about “flying cars” and “hotels on the moon” as a defense mechanism. He always has a quip ready to further alienate himself from any sense of accountability. He is also cruelest to the people trying to help him, a behavioral trend I have sadly witnessed in previous chapters of my own life. 

LOVERS ROCK Feelings

There is one scene in Steve McQueen’s LOVERS ROCK (a part of his fantastic Small Axe anthology) that made me feel things I never thought I could experience while watching a film. In the middle of a steamy, playful, intimate, and richly depicted 1980s house party for Black Caribbean immigrants in the UK, the song “Silly Games” by Janet Kay (a staple of the lovers rock subgenre of reggae) blasts through speakers while dancers wrap arms around waists and shoulders. Some people start to sing the lyrics and then the beat drops completely. The DJ has made a deliberate choice to surrender to something transcendent. For several minutes, all sound is generated by shuffling feet, heavy breaths, and voices singing in unison. What these people were looking for has been found; it is bigger than just the music and the house and the speakers. Those were just modes of transport to get to something romantic and sublime. At that point, lovers rock becomes more of a weather forecast than a genre of music or the title of a film. 

Luckily, I was able to screen LOVERS ROCK through the 2020 New York Film Festival’s virtual platform in a dedicated theater room at my parents’ house. But even with that setup in place, the experience made me mourn the joy of movies in theaters and the intense closeness of people feeling something wash over them collectively. I found myself craving touch; the noise of a crowd; the electricity of people bringing their desires to a dance floor. I wondered what this on-screen magic would do to a crowd in a theater. I could imagine people gasping, singing Janet Kay’s lyrics, swaying in their seats, holding hands, extending their date nights past the assumed end time because the movie opened up brand new possibilities. 

I love that LOVERS ROCK exists.

Top 10 Film Feelings 

This is the time of year when we are inundated with lists. I will admit that I find them overwhelming even though I always click to see how others are engaging with things I’ve consumed. I’ve included a screenshot above with my top 10 films for 2020. If you’d like to, you can connect with me on Letterboxd to see what I am watching and adding to lists in real time.

I won’t assign too much importance to my list because I want it to be a simple roadmap to things you might like. My rankings will most likely change between now and when the year ends because I am about to have a lot of downtime and the kinds of compelling viewing options that typically fill the winter months. Here is a longer list of everything that stuck with me this year.

Virtual Connection Feelings

It took me a while to start using Instagram stories. I had neither the language nor the need for them before this year. 

When I started following film-related accounts like the ones for MUBI, The Criterion Channel, and TIFF, I found comfort in featured screenshots from great films and images of actors I love. Soon, I felt compelled to add those posts to that little sequence of circles that now hovers above our timelines and behind a single click of our profile images. 

Friends started responding to my stories with things like several flame emojis for a shared shot of a particularly provocative painting from PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE. While I was continuing to post on my standard grid and into the void, these people I cared about had been living in floating circles. They were right there all along, and now I had finally joined them. 

Social media “stories” are a strange phenomenon in that I actually feel closer to my friends and slightly more alive for having leaned into ephemeral joys; this is how my brain wants to respond to the culture I like in 2020, and that’s okay. We all want to gather around and celebrate the art we like. The idea that we are finding ways to do that in isolation means a lot on the darker days. 

Closing Feelings

I hope some of the feelings above resonated and I’ll probably have more to say in this section next time. I hope you stay safe until we meet again and in the meantime, feel free to reach out (@nickbachan or nickbachan@gmail.com).