the (not so) secret life

Life is not like the movies. The best that movies can do is be a lot like life, mimicking its rhythms, distilling the small truths of our condition into three acts, dialogue, and camera movements, letting us know that on some level, someone understands what’s going on. There are people who like to pretend that they’re part of some grand cosmic drama, with a script written long ago, their reactions to the triumphs and tragedies of their lives predetermined by models constructed long ago by decades and decade of film history. And the romance of the movies replaces the true romance of their lives, as they wait for the right shots to come, the right height of the moon, the right line that will tug at the heartstrings, that will make them want to chase someone to the airport and hug and kiss to the applause of everyone around them. Meanwhile, there is love, uncinematic love, in the scenes from life that would probably end up on the cutting room floor. And it’s far more beautiful than anything a movie can give us.