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Finally. A film made before 1963 that I actually enjoyed. Not just sat through. Not just appreciated. Not just tolerated. But actually enjoyed. Like, I liked it. You know?
The Best Years of Our Lives. 1946. My friend Ellen recommended it a long time ago because I was saying how I don't know of any old black and white movies that I actually dig watching. I always feel like I'm in some film appreciation class and I can't get into them. So I Netflixed this flick, this two-hour-and fifty-minute flick, and was...not bored. Seriously. Not bored. I don't wanna say anything more. Just give it a shot. If the running time and the poster and even that title (I know) bum you out, I understand. But you gotta see it. Imagine a movie coming out in 1946 that de-romanticized the whole "coming home from World War II" thing. Yeah. Just…give it a shot, is all I'm saying. It's a lot to ask, I know. I wouldn't recommend it if I didn't think it was worth it. Try it. That is all.
You know—one more thing—I can't even say "enjoy," really. "Enjoy" is not the right word for my reaction to this flick. Let's just say I was constantly interested. Yeah. That's it. And I've never been constantly interested in a black and white movie from 1946 ever.
I've also been watching this great doc about Nazis too, but...Nazis are usually easier for me to like than old movies from 1946.
I remain
Champagne
10:53 PM
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