Eternal Sunshine: How do memories affect the way we view films?

I am 16, at a filmmaking camp, sitting outside having lunch, the guy sitting across from me asks; “Do you think you’d be here if it wasn’t for your dad? Would you even be interested in this kind of stuff?” I want to be honest, probably not. I’m not honest though, I give the answer everyone knows is fake to save face.

“No, I was always into film, I’ve always loved it.”

That is true. I have always loved films, but I have also always known my dad. It’s hard to separate the two. Growing up (and even now, though I’m usually too embarrassed to admit it) I would do anything my dad did. We would go for drives, practice basketball, garden, but my favourite thing to do was watch movies. Sure, everyone watched movies, but not like he did. It felt like I was being shown a special world, only an elite few could access. In a town with a two-screen cinema that showed the first Avengers (Joss Whedon, 2012) for 6 months, the ability to escape to different worlds was essential for survival.

I’ve always had a difficult relationship with competitions like the Oscars. My favourite film of the year has never won. The film snob within me likes to think that I have great taste in film, but the industry seems to disagree. Why wasn’t Aftersun (Charlotte Wells, 2022) nominated for Best Picture? I loved it, it had great performances and stunning cinematography. And most importantly it made me feel something (rumour is I cried during it, but you can’t prove it). Is there some intrinsic quality that Triangle of Sadness (Ruben Östlund, 2022) or All Quiet on the Western Front (Edward Berger, 2022) has that Aftersun is missing. What do Academy voters know that we don’t?

I am 14, earlier that day my dad had come up to me excited, he had a DVD in hand. It’s Goodfellas (Martin

Scorsese, 1990). We never had any streaming services, I was dependent on Channel 4 and the local library for my cinematic needs. And this was our lucky day. Dad has managed to secure us Goodfellas. I’ve heard him talk about this film for years. He doesn’t have a favourite film, but if he did it would probably be Goodfellas. Growing up Goodfellas was my Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941), an unarguably fantastic film, that only those of us “true” film lovers get to watch. I’d finally made it, I was deemed smart enough to watch it. And it did not disappoint. Even now, I would argue that Goodfellas is the best film ever made. But I think most of the world would disagree with me on that one.

A film is never just a film, that’s where we go wrong. We create a canon of what’s supposed to be the best based on certain criteria. But that criteria is too narrow. Sure, the director’s background, the filmmaking landscape, and the socio-political atmosphere when that film is being made is important. But it’s not enough. As much as we hate to admit it at times, films are only made for one type of person, the audience. A film is not an island, it does not just exist within the filmmaker’s world. It exists in ours too.