Movie Review/Reflection

Some movies exist better as a memory, as a fragment of a time when you switched on the TV and found something strange flowing in the dead of night, but I'm on effedupmovies.com trying to find the moral of the story anyways.

A Real Young Girl (1976)

A Real Young Girl does not particularly need introduction as the title speaks for itself. Do I need a disclaimer in order to talk about it? I watched this film because the local art house cinema was showing it. I timetraveled in more ways than one because of it:

1. The cinemas that would show movies like this one had seedy reputations for showing pornography. But they really cleaned themselves up haven't they? Here's an excerpt from the playbill: “real artists are hated.” So showing the film becomes a statement about standing out, rather than business as usual; an excuse to lose yourself in the breasts on the screen.
2. A 20-year-old acting as a young teenager kind of speaks to me, and helps me to initiate a reflection on the past. A monument to comtrast my own experiences. When I was young, media with content such as this would flow through me as an outsider and it would merely satisfy my curiosity, nothing more. But now I feel so fragile and sensitive. It hurt to watch from my current perspective.

This movie exists in civilization like how a fly exists around a garbage. It's something most people ignore and avoid. It's painfully slow with almost no imagination or charisma. Reality. My adolescence was also painfully slow with no imagination. Just watching and learning. I was a recorder of what I saw driven by my curiosity. The boundaries between myself and the world were clean and well defined and I was safe and secure, happy to not exist. So nothing happened.

The internet provides this secret place for people to express themselves privately with no consequences. So who are you? Who would you be without any social pressure to be clean? Some of us would stay clean regardless. The rest would play in the muck.

I used to be clean and lighthearted. I never changed like the girl in the film. My body simply did not exist to me. But one day a stranger sent sexual attraction beams to me and it was a wretched shock. My body suddenly became real. I lost my mind and arrived at the hospital. This is why they sent me to the academy. Words started to become real and swollen, crowding my mind and exerting pressure on my ego. It became violating. I became stuck up and easily offended. I could no longer exist in civilization.

Regardless I have an extreme admiration to women who are comfortable enough with sex to joke about it. It represents a healthy attitude that I crave but remains out of reach. I keep listening to breathlessly romantic music that as a cold-blooded femcel, I can't relate to. I would never let a gooey romantic feeling move my hand.

I only miss you when the song plays

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