nathansnook

Walking the Streets of Moscow

Mon nouveau « les 400 coups » . C’est pas Truffaut, mais la vie quotidienne, la jeunesse, tout simplement, la vie. Right off the bat, charm springs and spruces throughout the film shot after shot. The Tati-esque music, the glorious black and white shots of every day life. The story bops around, aimlessly, much like the way a student fidgets in their seat. Not because they're bored, but because there's an excitement in them that wants them to parade life, to be in it, to live it. By the end, I smiled, and tears sprung. I don't know the sentiment of the tears, but they're one of teen spirit. "𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨?" "𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨." By the end, I wanted to tell my friends how they've shaped me. How I've happened. My life is not without them. See, you know that feeling? When you leave a friend you spent the whole day with you barely realized it was dark out so you're riding the train home replaying the moments of the day, looking at all the pictures, sending them in troughs, even the ugly ones, because you know your friend would get a good laugh out of them and you're laughing in silence and because the laughter is silent you realize you're alone in this world of replaying a memory so sudden, so sharp, in its just-happening that you sober up somber down and realize you'll be home alone tonight, filled with jokes you forgot to tell and questions you forgot to ask and all the world passes in all the windows on your way home and you are just that. Fleeting and sunken. Fleeting and sunken in such joy that ends. Because all things end. But because they end, they have happened. And it's the happenings we carry with us that pump blood through our dreams and desires, all the way home. I have happened. And I couldn't have happened without you. <3