Raven and I went to see Little Fugitive at Film Forum the other night. As a super snobby person who spent a lot of time in her early twenties being “influenced” by French New Wave cinema and (sigh, I’m so awful) Andrei Tarkovsky, I was like THIS IS MY THING. THESE ARE MY PEOPLE! But… well… fortunately and unfortunately, I’ve evolved since I was 22, and my perception and patience both function differently.
Don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed the movie. It brought me to tears more than once, but I’m still not sure whether that was what it was supposed to do. I have a hard time, you see, telling the difference between whimsy and tragedy. There are things over which I hear other people go “awwwww” which make me go “but wait! He needs a hug!” I felt like this Little Fugitive was one of those things, but I didn’t interview the other audience members to confirm. Even the text that accompanies the Film Forum listing makes me wonder how many people miss the tragedy of this little story – “but with six bucks in his pocket and all of Coney Island for a hide-out, how tough can things be” – because I don’t know, if you are seven and your father has died and you think you’ve killed your brother by accident, I swear, things can be pretty tough!
Anyway. I loved the movie, hated the movie-goers, and was reminded how isolated I am from the bustle and flow of New York City. I live in one of the greatest, most storied cities on Earth and I… go to bed at 10 and complain about how loud people are. I dunno man, get out of the house, go see some cinema, be reminded of the better parts of humanity. Your upstairs neighbor may be listening to club versions of Beyonce songs, but somewhere in the city, there is a movie being screened that shows the greatest tragedy of the human heart, and that is probably worth checking out.