• Person of Some Authority: Ouch--your arm looks like it hurts!
  • Me: Oh yeah, that. I had some blood taken this morning, so now it looks like I'm a heroin addict. Which I haven't been in YEARS.
  • Person of Some Authority: (blank stare)
  • Me, internally: OH NONONO, HE THINKS YOU'RE SERIOUS.
  • Me, externally: (awkwardly curtsies and walks away)

Boyhood,  Richard Linklater.

Summary of my viewing experience: I realized, probably about two thirds of the way into the film, that I was smiling wildly at the screen. The scene wasn’t particular funny or gleeful; I caught myself and fixed my face. I had been so satisfied. Contented. With the film and beyond that, with life. The happiness was unconscious and all-encompassing. 

The life in this film. It breathes. Slowly and steadily. At times it pants, at others it holds its breath.

The performances were divine: Patricia Arquette, Ethan Hawke, Lorelei Linklater and, most obviously, Ellar Coltrane, all captivating. It’s bewitching to watch a boy—and a family—grow over 12 years. You smile with them, you laugh with them, you flinch with them, you cry with them, you look forward with them. You grow with them. It’s impossible to not think of how you yourself have grown and how your own childhood is gone, how that feeling is a universal one. The time slips away seamlessly; most moments are not big moments.

Technically speaking, the film is mesmerizing. To watch. To hear. It is a time capsule. The music—oh, the music! It’s such a delightful timeline, paints such a specific picture. Memories are triggered, memories of exactly where you were in each of those moments—your and Mason’s lives: parallel.

I can still feel that crazy smile on my face. This film left me with that feeling in my cheeks. I feel compelled to read everything that has ever been written about this film. I want to see it again. And then I want to see it once more. 

"We’re all just winging it. The good news is: you’re feeling things."