Tonight was "The Big Chill" at the Belcourt Theater. It's one of my favorite movies of all time. I've seen it at least 45 times, I even own it, but I resisted the urge to recite along so I wouldn't spoil it for the other four people in the theater. I love the Belcourt and try to go to the early show there every Friday night. It's a movie lover's paradise, a big old place where people do stay for the credits.
The whole experience was fabulous. I don't endorse everything that takes place in the movie, and I was all of 16 years old when I first saw it, so I don't really know why it struck such a chord with me. Maybe it was the longevity of the friendships and the shorthand among them. Or maybe it was William Hurt. (I was shattered when it was revealed in the 1988 palimony trial that, in real life, he is just a big jerk.)
This is a supposedly remastered print and yes, I did catch a few new things watching it on the big screen. What struck me the most was how filled with regret each character is. I'm fast approaching the age of the people in the movie and I'd have to say I don't have too many regrets. The few I have are equally split: half of them are regrets of commission, half of omission.
I used to list my time in Connecticut [state motto: Please Dress Nicely] as a regret, but a couple years ago I realized I'm so glad I did it. And left. Last year I was in the Knox Library and on the door of a student workroom someone had translated a Latin phrase: "Be patient and strong. This pain will be useful to you someday." I found it in my Palm Pilot the other day and I said to myself, "Connecticut." Because so much of how I approached moving here was a direct response to what I didn't do in Connecticut. So much of my happiness now is a result of what I learned from that experience. So I cannot, and do not, regret the time I lived there.