2014 • 95 minutes • Magnolia
I couldn’t stop crying.
The end credits of Frank were rolling in the Sunshine Cinema, my very first New York City movie theater (complete with eye gougingly high ticket prices), and I couldn’t stop crying. Later, coughing up tears onto Captain Cinema’s Garfield shirt waiting for the F train, I finally articulated: “It just hit me directly in my fears. It’s about a man who loves something so much but he can’t be a part of it without destroying it.” What if, I didn’t say, it’s prophetic? The next morning, mercifully, I had the kind of déjà vu I often mistake for prophecy or cosmic assurance observing my new fuchsia bookshelf, but it was a rough night of the soul.