For the last week or so, I've been watching movies like someone has declared film illegal. I'm consuming them. Katherine Hepburn black and whites, independent weirdies with casts I've never heard of, new releases about twisted young girls in rock bands, romantic comedies designed to make any viewer believe in the transformative power of love.
I have always loved movies. They provide an escape from whatever tragic thing is happening in my life, or a picture of a better world, or they help you believe that people can be better than you'd ever imagined. Sitting in a room seeing someone else's vision of love, tragedy, history, experiencing the world as it could be, as we hope it never will be again...there's a real reassurance in knowing that no matter where I am in my life, I can count on the movies.
Tonight, a movie I hesitated renting because I dislike the actress in it, had a moment in it that snapped me right out of my escape. In it, after a particularly ridiculous chain of events that makes the female lead want to flee a restaurant, the male lead asks her where she would feel most safe. Where they go and what happens in the rest of the movie--while heartwarming and lovely--don't really matter. What matters is that, when he asked that question, I realized I don't exactly have an answer to that question right now.
I used to think that wherever the people I loved and trusted could be found, I was safe, but circumstances change, people change. Love and trust can only take you so far and when the road runs out, so does any illusion of safety.
I'm not sure where my safe place is, and I'm not sure I'm ready to look for one right now. I think I'll just let cinema be my babysitter until I'm strong enough to not need one anymore. Film can be my safety net. I'll live in other peoples' dreams until I start believing in my own again.
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