You know that year that, besides the traditional hangover, starts with your dad’s seventh chemo and an urgent visit at the vet’s (as your cat looks weird since a week)? That moment when the vet announces his diagnosis? Those 5 minutes when, sitting on your chair (still at the vet’s) you are considering how on earth you will be able to inject twice per day, at regular intervals, your (quite “active”) tiger with insulin? These few seconds when the vet showcases how to get a drop of blood from your cat’s ear to measure with a glucometer her sugar levels (because yes, apparently, you are expected to repeat this exercise twice per day from now on)?
That is when everything goes blank in your head.
So there you are, still sitting on the vet’s chair, contemplating your cat – who, unlike you, looks pretty relaxed and is happily purring on the medical table. You, on the other hand, are unable to move or say anything because your brain is desperately trying to process the information: “how is this possibly going to work out? It HAS to work out! Yes, but HOW can it work out? And, any case, WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THE CAT HAS DIABETES?!”
The above explains why, by the 4th of January 2022, you are convinced that your year is basically screwed. Fatalism has caught up with you. Oh well, I mean, we’ve survived 2020 and 2021. We can as well do with a fucked up 2022. Nothing new… You’re just not sure how your liver will cope with the (regularly increasing) quantity of alcohol needed to keep the spirits up. Wha’ever, we’ll deal with that in 2023… or 2024.
And then comes Wednesday. Wednesdays, in Belgium, usually mean new movie releases (aka, a potential tiny little light in the middle of the very dark tunnel).
Unless, of course, the Belgian government decides to close cinemas from one day to another. Because, you know, something has to be done against COVID. And, as it’s not so cool to close shopping malls or bars, we might as well just close cinemas and theatres. Luckily for you, that governmental attempt happened a week ago. It failed. The Belgian Conseil d’Etat (who basically blocked the government’s not so legal and fair move) is since then your new bestie. Thanks to that, you can at least envisage hiding your miserable self in the dark room by the big screen.
Given the circumstances, the aim is to avoid anything too dark. You’re usually not really good at it. Thinking about the last movies you saw, you might want to reconsider your strategy: if possible, let’s avoid senile dementia, bipolarity, cancer, alcoholism and autism. Problem is, you’re not really into fantasy, romantic comedies or super-heroes. This limits the options.
Luckily for you, that is exactly when you remember the trailer you saw a couple of days ago. Smiling teenagers, nice music and a weird looking Bradley Cooper explaining how to pronounce “Barbara Streisand” correctly. Additionally, the title of the movie, “Licorice Pizza”, sounds as light as could be. The name of the Director is also a quality insurance. Paul Thomas Anderson. Hello my friends “There Will be Blood” and “The Master” (among others), I liked you very much. This should do.
So, off you grab your post-7th-chemo papa and your post-cat-diabetes-diagnosis-traumatized self and head to the Aventure, one of your favourite little movie theater in town. Unexpectedly there is quite a queue. It seems like many others got irritated with the Belgian government in the past week. As you are still on hysterical mode (WHAT DO YOU MEAN DIABETES?!!!) and maybe slightly under the influence of strong nail polish smell (those who know the Aventure, know what I am talking about), the thought crosses you mind to shout theatrically “Vive le Conseil d’Etat!” while queuing. Fortunately, being aware of your own febrile condition, you reconsider this option as fast as it came. You just get your tickets, show diligently your COVID QR code and go and grab a seat (the most comfy ones in town according to me).
And that’s when the magic happens and when 2022 unexpectedly grants you with your first 2 hours of (pretty vital) mental rest and enchantment. Young Cooper Hoffman obviously inherited the genius of his very much missed dad. Alana Haim should switch from her musical career to cinema (at least it would make my ears very happy… #verypersonalopinionalert). And just watching one scene more charming than the other (at least based on the state you’re in), listening to legendary music and realizing that you are laughing out loud together with many of your cinema buddies, makes your dramatic life circumstances feel way lighter than a moment ago.
Not that the Belgian government would care, according to it you’d better go and buy new shoes.
Any case, looking at what feels like a batch of friends having fun together, exchanging the most absurd dialogues possible and creating as improbable situations as may be (you sometimes even get your Jim Jarmush happy vibes), it naturally crosses your mind that the whole film crew, starting with Paul Thomas Anderson himself, must have enjoyed itself so much while putting this together. Maybe it’s the case. Maybe it’s just that Anderson is as, or even more, talented than you thought. Maybe it’s both. Any case, to you the picture transpires happiness, lightness and warmth.
And that’s how, for the first time in 2022, going back home through dark, windy and very rainy Brussels you allow yourself to think (at least for a while) that, provided you get a sufficient quantity of Licorice Pizzas in the months to come, you might survive whatever comes next. And your cat as well.
Klara's cinema 