Sony Pictures Classics

Made in Dagenham

brittany — Fri, 19 Nov 2010 16:00:00 +0000

I am not much for plays. I generally prefer to sit bundled in my comforter, wine in hand, and watch a movie. However, I was recently convinced by a friend to join her for Mrs. Warren’s Profession, the main attraction of which was Sally Hawkins. I know Sally Hawkins only from Happy-Go-Lucky where her cheerfulness, tireless as the Sony synopsis describes, was also guileless and irritating. It was nice seeing Hawkins as something more than a ditz; no, not more than a ditz, merely a different kind of ditz—aloof and self-righteous in a very different way. In Made in Dageham, Hawkins’ character is still wrapped up in her own fiction.

Made in Dagenham depicts the first strike of female workers in Britain. Starting as a dispute over wage classification, these women were not “unskilled” so much as they were specialized; however, the strike expands to an argument about pay equality. The strike is settled at ninety-two percent of parity.

Between unskilled and ninety-two percent, however, life continues and Rita O’Grady, as played by Hawkins, is too soon to forget the mundane—or at least it appears. She does not return to cooking or doing the dishes, and in a pivotal argument with her ever passive-aggressive husband, she rebukes him for behaving as he should towards her and their children, but never better. It is not a Betty Friedan sort of stance, trying to have it all, but it is also not third wave feminism’s acceptance that maybe having it all is not possible. In the film, O’Grady is called “the Revlon Revolutionary,” but only because she is a woman, not because her feminism resembles lipstick feminism. Her life doesn’t represent a particular political stance and seems merely a meditation on the ways things were.

While the film invites comparisons to Norma Rae, I have none to offer. The women of Dagenham were all too willing to go on strike, having seen their men do as much before. The women escalate their action after they feel that management’s response to their initial action is disrespectful. The women’s strike in Dagenham is endogenous, brought about by the preexisting union and acceptance of this behavior in a way that the South never has been.

Made in Dagenham is mostly a bubblegum depiction of feminism. It has a token scene in the union headquarters wherein heated arguments rely upon Marx—the progress of a society can be measured by its treatment of women. The film never develops any of its arguments or its characters fully; all remaining as tokenistic representations of the depths which feminism can reach.

Written by: Elisheva Zakheim, November 19th 2010

A Woman, A Gun, and a Noodle Shop

mandy — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 02:00:00 +0000

Directed by Zhang Yimou

Sony Pictures Classics

I walked out of the screening of A Woman, A Gun, and a Noodle Shop feeling vaguely dissatisfied. While the official selection of the 2010 Berlin Film Festival bills itself as a “black comedy thriller [which serves] as an expose of how intense desires can consume humanity,” it neither thrills nor tickles the funny bone. Instead, I found myself repeatedly checking my watch despite the film’s ninety-five minute run time.

A Chinese re-telling of the Coen Brothers’ classic debut, Blood Simple, A Woman, A Gun, and a Noodle Shop is set in a desolate area of northern China during the Late Imperial period. The action opens on the employees (Cheng Ye, Mao Mao, and Xiao Shenyang) looking on as their boss’ wife (Yan Ni) purchases state-of-the-art weaponry—a handgun—from a band of wandering Persians. The boss’ wife is having an affair with Li (Xio Shenyang), a clownish man with a “soft spirit.” After buying the gun, the boss’ wife (she’s never given a name, incidentally) makes it clear that she expects Li to help her kill her abusive and miserly husband, Wang (Ni Dahong). When Wang discovers the affair, he hires Zhang (Sun Hunglei), a patrol officer to murder the two. Greedy and cold-blooded, Zhang has plans of his own—plans that will result in even more bloodshed.

This film is sort of like pectin-free jelly; it has all the right ingredients except something that would firm it up and give it texture. And several hours after leaving the Sony Pictures screening room, I still can’t think of what that indescribable something may be. Better character development? A slightly more sympathetic Zhang? More background characters to give the film more local flavor? Real acting on Xiao Shenyang’s part as opposed to his constant mugging and gesticulation? Genuine comedy or, perhaps, more of a neo-noir feel? Or maybe a tender love scene between Li and the boss’s wife that would have helped me understand why she was willing to tolerate such a cowardly buffoon?

Then again, this film had too much of some things as well: slapstick, time-lapse montages, all of its characters hatching schemes and working at cross purposes. A Woman, A Gun, and a Noodle Shop also has plot holes galore. How does Wang amass such a fortune as a proprietor of such an out of the way business? Aside for the imperial police who stop by early in the film, this shop never has any customers. And why do Wang’s employees stick around when they aren’t being paid? For that matter, how does Zhang find so much time away from his patrol duties and from where does he get the blood-stained clothes?

This is not to say that A Woman, A Gun, and a Noodle Shop was a total waste of time. Many of its early sequences have a colorfully frenetic quality. A scene where employees twirl around like whirling dervishes as they handle noodle dough was beautifully inventive, and the Persian gun dealer’s swordplay was transfixing. The cinematography granted the film’s arid landscapes a bleak sort of beauty.

I admit that I’ve never seen this film’s source material, but given that Blood Simple had the Coen Brothers sharing the director’s chair and a pre-Fargo Frances McDormand in the lead, I am tempted to conclude that this retread isn’t worthy to undo the original’s sandals.

Written by: Ebony Edwards-Ellis, September 14th 2010

Micmacs

admin — Fri, 21 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet

Sony Pictures Classics

After running through a gauntlet of elevators and security guards at the Sony Tower in midtown Manhattan, I entered a small screening room to see the French film Micmacs. Micmacs follows a group of ragtag junkyard denizens as they attempt to help a newcomer in their midst get revenge.

The story opens with Bazil (Dany Boon) receiving word that his father has died after stepping on a landmine in the Moroccan desert. Bazil is effectively orphaned, as his frail mother winds up institutionalized. Several decades later, Bazil is working his shift at the local video store when a random act of violence gets him a bullet in the head.

Bazil returns home from the hospital—bullet in skull—only to find out that he has lost his housing and his job. Suddenly homeless, Bazil scrapes by as a street performer. He crosses paths with Slammer (Jean-Pierre Marielle), a life-long criminal who was pardoned after the guillotine failed to take his head off. Slammer takes Bazil to the junkyard run by Mama Chow (Yolande Moreau). Bazil becomes part of a group that includes, amongst others, Remington (Omar Sy), a Congolese ethnographer; Buster (Dominique Pinion), a man desperate to make it into the record books; and Elastic Girl (Julie Ferrier), a contortionist with more than a friendly interest in Bazil.

Shortly after his “adoption,” Bazil happens across two gigantic buildings that bear the logos of the weapons that destroyed his life. Vowing to get even, Bazil and his new friends work to deceive two unscrupulous arms dealers (Nicolas Marie and Andre Dussolier).

While I watched Micmacs, I couldn’t help but compare it to an earlier Jeunet film, Oscar-nominated Amelie. Both films have a zany charm, presenting gentle dreamers given to surrealistic fantasy sequences. Bazil and Amelie lost parents at tragically young ages, like old movies, distract themselves with silly questions, and anxiously avoid romantic attachments. The plots of both films are driven by coincidences and fortuitous events, have quirky characters who achieve their ends by (repeatedly) breaking into other people’s homes, and present comical sex scenes. In fact, three of Micmacs' cast members also appeared in Amelie.

Unfortunately, Micmacs doesn’t work as well as Amelie did, which I chalk up to an inappropriate tone. While Amelie was basically a romance, Micmacs touches upon corporate greed, international arms dealing, terrorism, and even genocide. To make matters worse, the arms dealers come off like caricatures, despite Jeunet’s efforts. A much darker tenor would have been more suitable for this film.

Micmacs was funny, but not hilariously so. The word that kept coming to mind during the screening was “cute,” and I found myself fidgeting despite the 104-minute run time. I anticipate that Micmacs will have a respectable run in certain American theaters; however, I would suggest that anyone interested in this film wait for the DVD.

Written by: Ebony Edwards-Ellis, May 21st 2010

Get Low

admin — Thu, 06 May 2010 16:01:00 +0000

Directed by Aaron Schneider

Sony Pictures Classics

Robert Duvall. Sissy Spacek. Bill Murray. If that’s not an easy sell, I’m not entirely sure what film would be. As expected, the acting in Get Low is phenomenal across the board. Even up and comer Lucas Black more than holds his own with these legends. The acting is the magic the movie tries so hard to make. Unfortunately, the allure of the fanciful southern folktale misses the mark. There are magic moments but Get Low fails to sustain itself consistently. Even so, it is a great pleasure to see these actors at work and tell this moral laden fable.

Robert Duvall plays an infamous town recluse, Felix Bush; Sissy Spacek plays his love of times gone by, and Bill Murray plays a funeral director. The premise is shockingly simple: the entire story centers on a funeral—only, it is for the still living Mr. Bush. If that were not strange enough, the funeral itself is no ordinary affair. In lieu of somber speeches and tears, there is an enormous party, with a raffle no less. But most surprising to me is that this film is based on a true story. A man by the name of Felix “Bush” Breazeale convinced counties of people to come to his “funeral party” by raffling off his property for next to nothing. The curiosity alone is appealing but the film presents a story the wider world needed to hear for its message on greed, love, and real life in the small town South.

Though all of these perspectives are intriguing, I somehow keep focusing on the fact that the film is couched as a folktale when really it is much more of an nontraditional love story. The intriguing part of this film is the dimension of older people in love. What would be so wrong with saying that? Is our world still that stuck in the traditional model of attractive, youthful happily ever after? Are we just not ready to think of the love lives of older people—beyond The Notebook in which we see their love mature from their youth? I think the answer to all those questions is yes.

The advertisers probably rightfully chose not to focus on this key aspect as for many audiences, it is not a major selling point. But as a feminist and someone critical of society’s scope of love, I think it is one of the most important reasons to go out and support this film.

Written by: Nicole Levitz, May 6th 2010

The White Ribbon

admin — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 17:02:00 +0000

Directed by Michael Haneke

Sony Pictures Classics

Once I watched Casablanca on television two times in a month. One more time, and I think I would have started believing the film was sending me messages. Since I know definitively that channel thirteen, the local PBS channel here in New York, is hopelessly Establishment Liberal from the News Hour to the financial advisers trotted out during the fundraising drives, I will not argue that this was a ploy by evangelical right was trying to provoke me into premature militant socialism. I am just disclosing my predisposition, widely shared, to seek political messages via cinema.

Often I go awry. I left a movie theatre, where I saw Lina Wertmüller’s Love and Anarchy, then in its first run, declaring it was about everything worth living and dying for, and completely ignoring its underlying playful critique of revolutionary romanticism. Actually, I may have been getting the wrong message—chuck it all resistance struggle—from Casablanca. After all, the Resistance—like the American Revolution—had better be a one-off, or else.

At points of threatened upheaval, malcontents like myself start scaring ourselves with our own self-importance. We are especially likely to be the choir targeted for the sermon. (A comrade once-removed became exercised over the need for safe houses after seeing Casablanca.)

Forgive the deja vu, but after leaving the screening room after seeing Michael Haneke’s The White Ribbon, I felt I had been there before—many times. Yes, there was nostalgia for the sheer, novel joy of austere, black-and-white, non-musical movies as experienced by undergraduates of my generation. Today, the film would not be considered a “date” movie, but these were the movies my crowd went out to. Ingmar Bergman was new to us, and college students flocked to retro picture houses. This was a genre that is the mirror opposite of romantic comedy—not tragedy really, just “grim.”

Haneke is on record as saying the film, which tracks a bunch of bad seed kids whose sadism and off-kilter vengeance undermine the equanimity of a pre-World War I German village, was intended as a critique of absolutist pedagogy. Interesting, as one of the two sympathetic characters is the narrator/schoolmaster. He tells the story as an old man (Ernst Jacobi), and is played by Christian Friedel in his role as the young, naïve schoolmaster and choirmaster. The nanny to the local baron’s child, love interest and future bride of the narrator, is the other sympathetic character. Leonie Benesch is endearing as the shy, repressed young woman responding to and fending off her equally shy suitor.

The plot aims at more targets than pedagogy. Incest, animal abuse, corporal punishment, elitism, an abusive sexual relationship, and harsh police interrogation all take a turn in the spotlight. Justice is served, sort of; the kids are found out, sort of. The schoolmaster leaves for combat and leaves the village.

Several times, I felt that people of a bygone age were being examined harshly under modern hindsight and judged with contemporary sensibilities, almost as inhumanly as the characters were treating each other. The “white ribbon,” worn as a reminder of purity, seemed almost more quaint than repressive. And as if we were intent on proving we were no slouches in the sadism department, some in the viewing room – a few men - cheered the verbal abuse between the Doctor and the Midwife, his lover and assistant, as if they were watching a boxing match. Scary.

The complicity of wives and institutions like school and the church in patriarchy is in the foreground, whereas the war fever prior to World War I is only a distant drumbeat. I am all for confronting violence in the home; after all, the personal is political. However, I do think the challenge of our contemporary anti-fascist efforts must be bringing the struggle out of the parlor and bedroom, where they are single issues in silos, and into the streets, where the call is for wide-reaching, broad-based systemic change.

Written by: Frances Chapman, November 29th 2009

Coco Before Chanel

admin — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 18:17:00 +0000

Directed by Anne Fontaine

Sony Pictures Classics

Spoiler Alert Prior to seeing this movie, I associated Coco Chanel with couture fashion and high society women with size two figures, like Audrey Hepburn and Nancy Reagan. Coco Before Chanel introduces us to the woman Chanel was before revolutionizing women’s fashion and becoming a fashion icon to the rich, famous and not so famous. This beautifully shot film humanizes Chanel and brings her to life by showing that she had insecurities, complexity, and visionary genius as a designer.

We first meet Chanel in her humble beginnings as a young girl left at a French orphanage with her sister Adrienne by their distant father. Chanel waited faithfully for him to visit the orphanage every Sunday to no avail. She and Adrienne are taught how to sew by the nuns at the orphanage, and when we meet the sisters again, they are supporting themselves as seamstresses by day and a sister song and dance act by night. After Adrienne elopes with a French nobleman, Chanel is unable to line up work as a solo act and decides to show up uninvited on the doorstep of Etienne, a wealthy and somewhat decadent Baron she had met in Paris who seems to have a sincere affection for her despite his rakish ways.

After Etienne informs her that she can only stay for a couple of days, Chanel stays on against his wishes and transforms herself into an Annie Hall-like muse by tailoring some of Etienne’s clothes to suit her waif-like figure and literally crashing (on horseback) a picnic he is hosting. Etienne finds Chanel entertaining and unique, and she ends up becoming a kind of mascot (and mistress) to him.

This movie effectively weaves Chanel’s personal metamorphosis with her evolution as a fashion visionary. In one pivotal scene, Etienne takes Chanel to the races and leaves her alone on the lawn while he sits in the more expensive box seats. As the camera pans over the crowd, we see through Chanel’s eyes, exposing the excessively ornate beading and ruffles on the women’s clothing, and realize her unique vision of how women’s clothing could look.

Coco Before Chanel is one of those films that stayed with me for days after I had seen it. Audrey Tatou’s transcendent and lifelike portrayal of Chanel is inspired, and director Anne Fontaine paints a fascinating portrait of a complex and talented woman. One may take issue with Chanel’s pragmatic approach to her relationship with Etienne, but a key piece of dialog in the movie explains the place of women in the world at that time: when Boy Capel (a love interest) asks Etienne if he can “borrow” Chanel for a couple of days, after a few thoughtful moments, Etienne assents adding, “Maybe it’s just what she needs to clear her head.”

Written by: Gita Tewari, November 11th 2009

Easy Virtue

admin — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 09:26:00 +0000

Directed by Stephan Elliott

Sony Pictures Classics

To say that Stephan Elliott was taken aback when approached to direct Easy Virtue would be an understatement. Asking the man behind the beloved drag queen road movie The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert to adapt a Noel Coward play didn’t exactly seem logical. But the producers of the film insisted there was a method to their madness. Considering the plot of the stage version—a conservative British family contends with their son’s new progressive American wife—they thought it only appropriate to inject a modern spark into the talky period piece.

Going along with this strategy, the producers decided to recruit not only Elliott but also composer Marius De Vries, the man behind the scores of both Moulin Rouge! and Romeo + Juliet. His music, paired with Elliott’s images, results in an exciting mixture of the contemporary and the nostalgic. De Vries alternates between vaudevillian instrumentals and the vocals of his modern cast, while Elliott both embraces and defies the “invisible” cinematography endemic to similar adaptations. It’s a relief to watch a period film that never even comes close to stifling, no matter how uptight some of its characters are. The world of Easy Virtue is real and relatable; we are immersed there and we feel right at home.

We are more than helped along by the mostly impeccable cast. Ben Barnes is effervescent as John Whittaker, bringing a boyishly playful sex appeal to the romantic lead, and Colin Firth and Kristin Scott Thomas are, of course, especially effective as his parents. A startlingly grizzled Firth delivers each line with an understated realism that is alternately hilarious and tragic. Thomas is equally believable as the rancorous Mrs. Whittaker, a role that could have easily slipped into caricature in the hands of anyone less capable. It is delightfully awkward to watch them tiptoe around each other as if they ended up married by accident. Even relative unknowns Katherine Parkinson and Kimberley Nixon are pitch-perfect as the Whittaker daughters.

I was skeptical about the casting of Jessica Biel in a period film, let alone as the lead alongside such acting royalty. Elliott has referred to Biel as a “blank slate” of an actor, and that may be true, but the slate just doesn’t get filled here. Though Biel tries her best, there’s something not-quite-there about her as Larita. She picks up more steam toward the middle of the film, once her character stops trying to please her fiancé’s family, but she never fully attains the level of charisma the role requires. Ultimately, you don’t quite understand why Larita inspires such vitriol from the women or such adulation from the men.

Still, Easy Virtue is both a faithful and refreshing film—and a very consistent, cohesive one at that. It does just what an adaptation should: give a fresh take on the original material while staying true to its spirit.

Written by: Caitlin Graham, June 11th 2009

Every Little Step

admin — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 10:00:00 +0000

Directed by James D. Stern, Adam Del Deo

Sony Pictures Classics

Despite the fact that I have lived in Manhattan for over six years, I have never once gone to a Broadway show. In fact, I make it a point to keep away from the theater district, period. I don’t much care for the stylized (read: exaggerated) performance style that theater actors have to adopt in order to make themselves seen and heard from the nosebleed seats. And I always thought that the way characters in musicals always burst into perfectly choreographed song-and-dance routines to advance their individual story lines was Velveeta-cheesy.

That said, I plan to go see A Chorus Line as soon as it comes back to New York City, exorbitant ticket prices be damned. Sitting through the oftentimes poignant documentary, Every Little Step, piqued my curiosity about the hugely successful Broadway show.

The plot of Every Little Step, which was the official selection of the 2008 Toronto International Film Festival, operates on parallel tracks. The first track details the nearly year long audition process behind the 2006 revival. The second track relates the process under which the original play was written; it features audio tape from the midnight talks that A Chorus Line creator Michael Bennett had with the “gypsies” of Broadway, performers who always got cast for the chorus lines without ever landing a star role in a production.

The filmmakers wisely avoid American Idol style antics, only depicting the very best of the auditions. Yuka Takara squirms while trying to convince a skeptical Baayork Lee, the original Connie, that she is the best person to reprise the role. Jason Tam’s subtly powerful interpretation of the cross-dressing Paul’s monologue reduces the casting directors to tears, which is amazing due to the fact that these people had heard those lines thousands, if not millions, of times before. We see an earnest Deidre struggle to hit the right notes as she tries for the part of Sheila while her main rival, Rachelle, unexpectedly crashes and burns. A preternaturally talented Jessica is the Cinderella of the piece, travelling from small-town New Jersey to nail “Dance: Ten; Looks: Three.”

I honestly can’t find fault with Every Little Step. The pacing is excellent. This movie, unlike a lot of recent movies, is actually shot on film, giving the images the requisite gritty feel. The talking-head interviews managed to be educational and entertaining at once. And it wasn’t filled with inaccessible theater in-jokes that would have made it difficult for a Broadway newbie like myself to follow along.

Every Little Step gives its viewers a taste of what it is like to literally sing—and dance—for one’s supper. This should be recommended viewing for any prospective Broadway actor who feels that they “can do that,” “hopes they get it,” or wants to see what other actors “did for love.”

Written by: Ebony Edwards-Ellis, March 10th 2009

Synecdoche, New York

admin — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 17:58:00 +0000

Directed by Charlie Kaufman

Sony Pictures Classics

It sucked.

Any other questions?

Okay, I know all the reviewers are raving. My husband raved (and I’ll let him justify that on his blog). I suspect the reviewers are raving because that’s what they think they’re supposed to do. It’s a deep and serious movie. It’s existentialist! It’s about the meaning of life! It’s surreal!

Yes, it’s all those things, but that doesn’t mean it’s good.

But it was directed by Charlie Kaufman! And it stars Philip Seymour Hoffman and other great actors! Saith the reviewer, “Surely I’m the only one who isn’t getting it. Ergo, pretend I got it.”

I admit I’m tired of that schlub’s (Hoffman) schlubby act. I’m tired of his potbelly and his patchy skin and his mouth hanging open in bewilderment. He may be a good actor, but he’s done his schtick one too many times for me. So that’s part of it. He’s just aesthetically offensive. I like my actors to have some bones in their faces, some grace to their bodies, even if they are dying of pustules.

There was no discernible storyline. Or at least, they started out with one, but lost it somewhere along the way, but kept bringing it back. In other words, they couldn’t decide on a course of action and stick to it. Indecisiveness that stretches over two hours in a difficult movie is not my idea of entertainment.

And at the end of the day, this is what it is supposed to be: entertainment. If I’m not entertained, and if the most profound thing they could present in the way of a meaning of life was that we’re all actors in a play, each the lead in our own tragedies, that’s not profound. Well, it may be profound, but it’s still a cliche.

If I want deep, I read a fucking book. Not saying movies can’t be both deep and entertaining. They can. This one wasn’t. It was slow. It was boring. They could’ve shaved thirty minutes off it without losing anything, and it was full of plot twists that neither made movie sense nor contributed to the point of the movie, if the movie had a point. There were changes in tone and in the characters that were senseless, random, arbitrary.

There comes a time when a filmmaker tries to do something ambitious, and in the process of doing it, his head starts swelling. Then he starts inventing words and throwing random stuff in to make it deliberately confusing. He’s brilliant! Nobody will get it and everybody will think they got it (or should get it), and they will all write reviews that are wildly different from each other’s, which the reader will promptly forget as soon as she reads them because they aren’t actually saying anything of substance, anything that has much relation to the movie.

There were a few clever moments. Of course. I’m sure Finnegans Wake had a few witty lines. Or maybe not. This wasn’t quite that bad. Let’s say Ulysses then.

It still sucked.

Yes, I just indirectly admitted I thought Ulysses sucked. What of it?

Cross-posted at The Apostate

Written by: The Apostate, December 2nd 2008

Volver

admin — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 12:52:00 +0000

Directed by Pedro Almodóvar

Sony Pictures Classics

What does it mean to have a dead mother come back to life and nurture her daughters and granddaughter again? Well that is in the meaning of the film’s title, Volver, which means to recapture again, in this case, the love that went missing years before.

In Volver, even though the main characters are all women, it’s not necessarily a woman’s film. There are women’s issues discussed, but this is definitely not a chick flick. The movie makes fun of itself, as all Almodóvar films do (see Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, All About My Mother, and Talk to Her).

The movie starts out with the Penélope Cruz character, Raimunda, as well as scores of other women, cleaning graves. It should be known that death is a very important part of people’s lives in La Mancha, Spain, where Almódovar is from. The dead continue to be present in people’s lives, meaning they never really die. When Cruz’s dead mother enters the picture, we learn this soon enough.

Family is also a very important part of life, at least for Raimunda and her folk, which includes a daughter, sister, aunt, and eventually mother. Not only do men not exist for these women, but they simply aren’t important enough for them. We soon learn this when Raimunda’s husband Paco (Antonio de la Torre) tries some hanky panky with her, and she has none of it.

The movie is colorfully filmed, but that’s not what makes it stand out. Cruz’s electrifying performance makes the “dead mother comes back to life” plot seem credible and one wonders why she isn’t used as well in American films. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the mother character, Irene (Carmen Maura), which I did. In fact there’s one terrific scene where Raimunda, who’s unaware that her mother is in her sister’s house, smells Irene’s farts, and Irene can barely control her laughter. When Raimunda and Irene finally do meet, it makes you wish that the afterlife really did exist so that you can make amends with the person you lost too soon.

Written by: Joan Faulkner, February 8th 2007