I think everyone with a romantic streak idealizes history. The thought that there were generations upon generations that lived and died and loved and thought deep thoughts and felt the same things I feel now before I was even born blows my mind and makes me feel my insignificance acutely.
I always wanted to be born long ago, with the stipulation that I’m white and have perfect vision (my legal blindness would be crippling and obvious, pre-invention of contact lenses). Maybe as one of the March sisters. Or the other Bennett sister. Yes, I’ve always felt anachronistic and wished for the past. I’m a silly girl with escapist tendencies.
So that’s what this movie is about. Being present.
I bought Midnight in Paris today, after watching it twice, I’m convinced it is up there on my list of most beloved movies along with Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, Mean Girls, and The Mummy (I’ve seen it probably over 50 times).
My sister said it is DELIGHTFUL.
In the privacy of the internet, I’ll say it made me wish I lived in the 1920s and 30s for the sole purpose of banging Hemingway. Bow chicka wow wow.