Of all the things that preoccupy my interests, cinema will always reign as my biggest passion. Is it the most important of all topics? Is it valuable enough to justify the large-scale means in production? As the Chauvet Paintings have proven, art is paramount to humanity. It's always been a window into how people lived in their time, and coped with the changing attitudes and mores of our collective narrative unfolding. Cinema, at its finest, is the fusion of all arts coaxed and shaped into a time frame (the most vital of all life forces) to inspire empathy and provoke thoughts in several frames per second.
Like many mid-eighties children, I was raised with the populist pleasures of an archaeologist sprinting from a boulder, a galaxy far far away, the Austrian cyborg bent on murder, the butchered cop re-Christened as a robot avenger. The turning point from the passive joys of those movies to the transcendental high of intricate, mature cinema came from those creator's mentor of popular entertainment from Alfred Hitchcock and his down-and-dirty horror show Psycho. The smeary VHS dub I sneaked into my room while home sick played to my six-year-old eyes, and a different person was born once the tape ejected.

Loftiness aside, movies can be fun. The good ones trickle in people's hearts and minds long after leaving the theatre and are reminisced in our psyche or with good company. Even the crappy misfires can inspire laughs or at least remind people of their tastes through lively revulsion. Movies can hold a mirror to an audience's soul or unto itself in a clever breakdown of its aesthetics. It's been an artistic medium for over one hundred years, and the possibilities are still boundless because they find their vitality reflecting any period or place. At its best, it presents nothing less than the multifaceted depths of the human experience.
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