Note: Technically this is last week Sunday’s viewing, but let’s not get caught up in semantics, OK?
March 19 was the 20th anniversary of this film and, Judas, I can’t believe I’m that fucking old. That means I was 30 when it came out, just two years older than Kate Winslet (when she filmed it). Wow!
So I started the film on Tuesday, the 19th, just letting it play in the background as I worked. I got about halfway through and then finished it on Sunday while Shalee was out to dinner with her friend Ceci from Argentina/Chile.
I sat alone in the dark just sobbing as I watched the film.
I said 20 years ago that it was the truest depiction of love on screen that I have ever seen and all this time later I believe that assertion holds up.
As I’ve grown, and hopefully matured, my understanding and relationship with love has changed. I think I am far less black/white than I was when I was younger and better recognize the complexities that can, and often do, exist alongside love.
And yet, 20 years later as I watch these two characters say horrible things about each other and then erase them each from their respective minds, knowing that two years of relationship and love lead to them breaking up, and yet still deciding to just fucking go for it beautifully illustrates how messy and real love can be.
It’s wonderful and kind of perfect.
However, can we at least acknowledge that the 14 year age differences between both Jim Carey/Kate Winslet but also between Kirsten Dunst/Mark Ruffalo is so very Hollywood and not at all realistic? Only in a movie is it commonplace for such a glaring age gap.
That’s the only complaint I have after two decades, otherwise, no notes.
Transcribed from my film journal with minor edits
© 2024 Michael A. Diaz