The Perks of Being a Wallflower
based on the novel by Stephen Chbosky
I don’t believe in the perfect moment. In my experience, waiting for the perfect moment is, essentially, waiting for Godot—a hopeless exercise doomed to near-violent levels of self-reflection and ennui. The only perfect moment is now, because that’s the only moment you’ve got, quite technically.
Rather, I believe in serendipity. The moments we think of as perfect can’t be snuck up on. Instead, they sneak up on you.
Watching The Perks of Being a Wallflower snuck up on me. I adored the novel in all its universality and specificity, but as soon as the film ended, I found myself crying and laughing uncontrollably into my knees, muttering the solution to a pressing decision into my lap. I’d forgotten that it was May. It was my first May that didn’t involve the end of a school year and all those attendant hopes and fears. I was both nostalgic for what May used to mean and grateful for what May means now—that I am a woman grown (more or less), with her fate in her own hands.
Now that’s a good movie.