...but then I went to Titanic on Wednesday. I spent the whole thing being accosted by nostalgia: being seven and jiggling to the bagpipes as my mother cleaned out the coat closet, being seventeen and interrupting a phone call's flow to insist that my conversation partner flip his TV to TNT so he could watch Rose leap out of the lifeboat and reunite with Jack, being any age and streaking my hand down a foggy window...it was like one giant out-of-body experience. My physical self was wearing 3D glasses and snarfing down fruit chews in Sweden, but my spirit was parked in front of a Quasar TV set and dribbling tomato soup down her shirt in South Dakota.
I could probably fill a book with memories about this film, but I won't, because that would ruin the magic. The bottom line is that a lifetime has been fulfilled, and I am exhausted due to too much thrill.
Anyway, it was beautiful. And worth the 135 Swedish kronor (approximately $20.00, but who's counting?). And I'm going again. Not even a question.
The Filmstaden of dreams.
I want to have this.
Where the magic happened.
Directly after. I went in wearing a whole lot more eye makeup than I came out with.