My Best Friend’s Wedding takes an archetype and strays, all while revving up our expectations. It’s enough to make us wonder what film universe we’ve stepped into: is this even a romantic comedy, or have we wandered into a Greek tragedy?
The Remains of the Day is a prolonged and aching rumination on what could have been—what might have been—at another time, or at least in another Britain. If you can name another film that personifies so astutely those feelings of regret and melancholy, guilt and repentance, I’ll eat my top hat.
There is much to say about Chariots of Fire—much about class and social order, about overcoming both religious prejudice and Anglo-Saxon snobbery, about stuffy British parlors and antiquated politics—but much of this, much of one’s experience of the film, is dominated by its music.
I have watched The Memory of Justice dozens of times, devoting countless hours to taking notes and rewinding key moments and sleeping and dreaming and eating and waking, all while inundated—saturated, really—by my own memories of justice.