Directed by Luca Guadagnino
Starring Timothee Chalamet & Armie Hammer
‘Call me by your name’ is a film that is so terrifically human. I was both a witness and a participant while watching this film. I do not think I have ever watched a film more authentic than this.
Nothing we say in life is ever neatly composed or free from the constraints of human imperfection. I feel as though movies have taught us that everything worth saying should be composed neatly and those who speak in the tidiest of sentences are models for us all. This is a disservice to what it means to be ‘real’. The characters in this film speak as one usually speaks in their daily life, unscripted and unrehearsed; the epitome of ‘real’.
In this film, even when words are hardly spoken, the actors say everything that needs to be said with a frustrated ruffle of the hair or a look that screams more than a hundred love songs could ever dream to convey. This film taught me that as humans, we are all a little bit unusual and our own behaviour often shocks and shames us. All we want is to be loved and accepted for our authentic selves.
How lovely it is to have found a movie that dares to adress what might happen to us, if we too find the courage to expose our souls, naked and flawed. Perhaps this film will inspire a few people to realize that honesty, pain and love are always worth it.
By Rebecca Julie
I lived in London a couple years ago. I decided to move there on my own because I was a shy 23 year old who had just finished her teaching degree. I looked back on my four years of study and realized that I had wasted so much time waiting around for my life to start.
I had literally spent four years waiting for life to find me while I watched TV and ate pasta. I had come so far in life it would seem. From a young optimistic four year old making pasta necklaces, to a 23 year old woman eating pasta so often it decided to hang around (namely on her gut and thighs).
So anyway, I did the only thing I thought I could do to actively change my life. I ran away.
For everyone who cared about me, I called it an adventure, my chance to see the world. However, in reality, I was just so fucking done with my life. I needed a break from it.
I recall one particular lonely London day. I was sitting on my bed marking assessments. I was listening to Hozier on repeat because I had chosen his latest album to be my woeful theme music.
The room was so big, too big. There were too many empty spaces surrounding me. I hated it. I could feel the entire vacant space swirl around as I continued to scratch red lines onto paper I could barely read (seriously, kids, it is not that hard to separate your letters).
The walls had been covered with ugly off-white wallpaper that was peeling in places. I could see yellow stains here and there and I wondered what disgusting find I may stumble upon if I was to peel back the wallpaper completely.
I feel like people pride themselves on having so much space. It is as if you are suddenly important because you have purchased the emptiness between the distances of stuff.
In the end, it does not matter how much distance you purchase, for I had realized on that lonely London day that I would much rather be closer to things.