gal pacino’s review published on Letterboxd:
i’m late to writing this review. i’m always late. i’m always hoofing it to catch the train, to catch up in conversations, to catch my heart from leaping out of my chest towards the first person who listens, really listens, to it. i’m a perpetual runner-up who has been single for more than ten years, and i no longer remember what true love feels like. non-delusional love. reciprocal, requited love. Past Lives reminded me when i first watched it almost a year ago (emerging in a semi-catatonic state from a screening room), and then again upon this rewatch.
i wrote this in the introduction to my interview with Celine Song for Letterboxd’s Journal, and here it is again: “Nora and Hae Sung’s lives simply, softly pass each other by. It’s the feeling of a barely missed subway transfer, the wind of what could have been stinging your eyes. Past Lives dries your tears and gently suggests that you don’t need to sprint for the train; another is always coming.”
i’m looking back on these words i typed last June while i was sitting solo on a Bushwick park bench after midnight, and i’m reminding myself that another train is always coming. i used to be a lot more personal on here, though now i’m reticent to spill my guts in front of 100k+ strangers. but, like Nora, i’m a writer, and that’s what writers do: submit to vulnerability.
here goes: i am convinced i was a stray cat in a past life, because that’s how i feel in this one too. i am forced to be independent, i have no one to call home, and i devour the tiny scraps of chicken i unearth with delight and fervor, since i don’t know when i’ll be lucky enough to scavenge them again.
each hug that Nora gives and receives, i felt them in my bones—the hello hugs, the goodbye hugs, the “everything will be alright” hugs. the sudden match cuts that mimic the intensity of sense memories. the silent stares and bittersweet smiles that communicate more than words ever could. the alienation of being stranded on a bridge between two disparate worlds, juggling rejections and embraces from both sides.
if you leave something behind, you gain something too. the train has left the station and i’m still here on the platform, ready and waiting for the next one.
