Begin Again

In 2021, when I was eighteen and fresh out of high school, I decided to live in a college dormitory. I'd only be there for a puny three months before I dropped out and wrote off dorms altogether, but my time there was memorable nonetheless. I walked eight miles a day. I lived with four other girls. We had what was essentially a half-bath with a toilet, shower, and no mirror to share between the five of us. I did not like any of them. Oh, and I was withdrawing from drugs. Whoopsie! Weird thing for a college freshman to be going through, but I was nonetheless. My time with drugs was the result of a tumultuous few years and the reckless abandon of a teenager coming together, and in the come-down from this drug use, I was miserable. I'd never been a huge fan of movies, but I liked to watch them from time-to-time, especially cheesy romances like The Princess Diaries or 13 Going on 30. Feel-goods that reminded me of being a kid. In drug withdrawal, though, I couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes. I'd bring yarn with me to restaurants and crochet long chains over and over again. I put New Girl on in the background while molding things from clay for hours on end. I ate a lot. A lot a lot. It was one of the only things to keep me stimulated that wasn't uh...stimulants! And still I was miserable. I attempted many times to watch films and found that I simply couldn't--a dark cloud would come over me when I was idle for too long. Movies allowed for too much thinking on my part. I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to watch movies again. Frankly, I was pretty sure that I got closer to death every minute I felt this way--my days were numbered, a year, maybe two left in me. It was a very dark time. At college, I would walk around in circles for hours while talking to stop myself from going crazy. Despite my misery there and hatred of my roommates, I was determined not to end my life. And I actually started to see some improvement: it is shockingly true that things can be healed with time, including addiction. I was able to go on walks with just music, even if for a short period of time. One night, maybe a month or two in to my tenure at the dorm, I challenged myself to watch a movie. Not a movie I'd seen before, not a movie that I paused fifteen times or played in the background while I scrolled on my phone. I had to set up my laptop and pay attention. I don't remember how I found Begin Again; I assume it intrigued me because of my very beloved Mark Ruffalo and the beautiful Lizzie Bennet I mean Keira Knightley. Anyway. I rented this movie on YouTube and achieved something that I'd thought impossible: I watched it. I didn't do other things while watching it, either. I just sat there and watched it. After that, I rewatched 13 Going on 30, because I really do love Mark Ruffalo. I couldn't believe myself: I watched two movies in a row. After about four hours of screen-staring, I broke into sobs. I was getting better. That night was the beginning of what has now become a multi-year love affair with movies, and it makes me very grateful to the existence of Begin Again. I think it took me so long to rewatch because I didn't want to tarnish the memory. This was the catalyst for the life I live now, going to the movie theater two, three times a week--what if it's fucking terrible? I didn't want to discover that. Thankfully, it's not terrible, it's actually terrific. One of those movies that feels tailored specifically for my tastes, in fact I think I like it more now than I did two and a half years ago. The music in this is genuinely really good, and the concept of it is so simple but so very watchable. Not a very strong descriptor, but trust me, it's high praise. I could watch this over and over again. I love every single character, every single plot beat, everything. I love music even a little more than I love movies, and this is the marriage of them that my heart needs. It's just so good. I'm so glad I found it in what was probably a listicle called "10 Heartwarming Movies That Need More Love" when I was eighteen. Literally an American treasure.