I just finished seeing pedro almodovar’s All About My Mother.
I bawled my eyes out.
How can a movie, something you watch with a thousand distractions. Something you know has been made, manufactured. With actors and actresses playing parts. How can a movie move you so much?
Of course it’s my own fear of death.
My love for dark colours, slow camera movements.
My fear of anything dark, mingled with my love for anything hopeful.
Still, how would a man sitting in another country, who’s never ever met me. And will never even meet me. Make a movie in a language that I don’t even understand. And yet move me so much?