Past Lives
Some summer in elementary school, I visited my cousins in Illinois. On the plane back, we sat, waiting for takeoff, and I cried. I cried because I didn’t want to let go of that trip. 119
You can experience that when you’re older—platonically or romantically—but there’s something about a childhood farewell that feels like it digs into the skin with no parallel.
At its best, Past Lives is like eavesdropping, sitting in on people’s private meanderings. At its just-alright, it’s a short story that grew legs before its time. <PERSON> mulls over the universal truths of her script thoughtfully, but there’s nothing on screen as emotionally challenging or involving as our own versions of this story. Also, I’m annoyed that the white dude is the anchor of the film’s most resonant scene. 352