1,727 words
Many years ago, in what now seems to be almost a past life, I used to be quite the cinephile. I loved films. I loved the French Nouvelle Vague. I loved Italian neorealismo. I became enamored of the great auteurs. On many occasions, I would drive to faraway cinemas in the big cities so I could see films, usually foreign or independent ones, that were not going to play in my hometown movie theatres. When I was even younger, I used to eagerly await the Friday edition of the local newspaper so I could read the movie reviews of the weekend’s new releases. When I reached my college years, I took a few elective courses on film history and production.
Nowadays my burning passion for the silver screen has been reduced to grey, dusty ashes. It is a fate that has befallen many people,...