I have cried about a lot of things in 2020 — the loss of loved ones, the loss of quality time with friends and family, the loss of a sense of identity and temporality.
I have wept due to fear and anger and injustice and disappointment. I have also whimpered over missing petty little things that bring me quotidian joy, such as eating a hot French fry or wearing red lipstick just to look bitchy.
Not too long ago, my husband walked in on me while hot tears streamed down my face. "What's wrong?" he urged. "I just wanna go to the movies!" I wailed, toddler-like.
It's not a stretch that a professional film critic would ache for the big screen. The last film I saw in theaters was Autumn de Wilde's spring release Emma,a wry and talon-sharp take on.
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