I must be an old grandma because I’m really tired of watching movies these days. Comedies are brash and vulgar. Romances are trite and annoying. Action films are loud, full of CGI, and lack substance. Dramas are depressing without presenting anything new or insightful.
I feel like this summer I forgot to watch more of the movies that made me love the medium in the first place: the films from the ‘50s and ‘60s that are innocent in their storylines and sincere in their executions. Watching these movies makes me feel nostalgic for simpler times, and casts a magic over me more potent than any Hollywood blockbuster made today could ever do. Perhaps they make me wish for a world that only exists in film, but I don’t mind—I’ll take what I can get, even if I can only experience it for a couple of hours at a time.
My favorite movies are the ones that everyone else seems to forget. Like Come September or Arabesque. They’re good movies with a good cast, but they’re not the overrated classics. You’d only watch them because they happen to be on TCM on a boring Saturday afternoon. (Or I guess that’s just what I do.) They’re hidden gems of outdated cinematography and stagier styles of acting. Girls wear evening dresses or go-go boots. The action and love isn’t showy or purposefully ironic. They are silly and serious at the same time.
Perhaps in 50 years that’s how today’s movies will seem.
And in that case, I think I’ll just wait to watch them then.
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