Richard Linklater’s is Certified Fresh at 100%
I’ve been living with Boyhood in my head for three days now: turning it over and around to examine it from different angles, and sifting through the [many and varied] layers of emotional impact.
It’s always intoxicated me to find a film that strikes an intimate chord [or more], and this film left me spinning. I’m not a boy, and it’s called Boyhood, so I suppose I hadn’t expected it to resonate so deeply.
But it found me, anyway, and I felt it all: as a daughter and a stepdaughter [to the point that I flinched and fought the urge to flee]. As a sister, so bittersweetly. As a new kid. A high-schooler. A drifter and dreamer.
A Texan. A human.
And a mother…dear God, as a mother. Surely Linklater must have at least briefly considered calling the movie Motherhood. Or Fatherhood. Or Fuck Me, This Parenting Gig Is So Hard And I’m Struggling To Not Screw It Uphood.
Because oof: it is. I am. We are. Oof.
I walked into the theater knowing only that it was Linklater, and that it covered a twelve-year arc. I’d studiously avoided reviews, not wanting to be tainted or influenced by anyone else’s experience or opinion [no spoilers, please].
And I walked out…altered, somehow, by the cumulative effect of all that familiarity playing out on the screen.
But beautiful. Breathtaking.
Boyhood. And life.
I’m in love with them both.