“Learn to love solitude – to be more alone with yourselves. The problem with young people is their carrying out noisy and aggressive actions not to feel lonely – and this is a sad thing – the individual must learn to be on his own as a child – for this doesn’t mean to be alone: it means not get bored with oneself which is a very dangerous symptom, almost a disease.”—Andrei Tarkovsky
my roommates all just watched Drive for the first time.
And they hated it. Like, HATED it.
I tried to feign understanding, murmuring things like “Oh yeah, I guess the violence was a little too brutal and realistic at times” and “Hmm, I suppose that does seem like an odd song choice for that scene,” but I was internally wincing while they happily bashed every notable, cool thing about the movie.
Now, I understand people are entitled to their own opinions, and it’s fine that this particular movie wasn’t their cup of tea, it’s fairly graphic and references back to a lot of older stuff you might not catch if you aren’t familiar with the styles. It’s fine, it’s whatever, like what you will.
But when they mutually agreed that “Ryan Gosling wasn’t even that good. Like, he wasn’t even handsome or anything,” my eye started twitching and the empty wine bottles on the coffee table started looking less like the remnants of a fun girls movie night and more like the instruments of a psychopathic murder spree.
DID THEY JUST BLACKOUT OR SOMETHING DURING THE PART WHERE HE KEPT WEARING THE BLOODIED SCORPION JACKET BECAUSE I MEAN ugh what a badass.