Cam and I hadn't spoken in over a year when he texted me:
“Hey, did you just follow me on Letterboxd?”
That's how it was.
Seeing his name on my phone electrified something beneath my breastbone, a flickering marquee of life after years of disuse.
“Yes, doesn't it bother you?” I replied.
“I needed to know what you thought of
Nolan
's latest one .”
Letterboxd
is a social platform for movie lovers, a place to record what you see (with options to rate, criticize and like), keep up with what your friends are watching and keep a list of what you want to see.
I had followed Cam on Letterboxd in a burst of optimism, thinking that despite our heartbreaking breakup, there was a place where we could
stay connected
, a plane above Earth's selfish gravity.
There are no new photos, personal updates, or relationship statuses on Letterboxd.
Those small spaces where jealousy lurks and heartbreak dominates.
“
TikTok
told me this would happen,” he wrote.
“Mercury is retrograde and an ex would appear out of nowhere.”
“Well, I would blame
Christopher Nolan
rather than astrology,” I replied.
“Christopher Nolan is astrology for kids.”
I smiled as I typed.
“High concept with details that go unnoticed.”
“Broad enough to be about anything,” he responded.
Falling in love with Cam was an experience peppered with movies.
We met at
Warner Bros.
, where we were both doing internships.
In our first few months together, we went to the movies every week and saw “
American Sweetness
,” “
Arrival
,”
“Moonlight,” and “La La Land
.”
The first time we slept together, Cam had come to watch “Queen of Earth” on my roommate's 24-inch TV.
Halfway through the movie, I rested my feet on his lap.
He later told me that was when he knew we would be together.
I would soon learn that, for Cam, watching that small-scale film was like seeing
a Van Gogh
through cracked, grease-stained acrylic: a shame.
But he was doing what we all do when we're trying to win someone over: playing cool, avoiding essential parts of ourselves for fear of rejection.
The irony is that, given oxygen, those prickly characteristics are what make you fall in love with someone.
The recited lists of romantic comedies—often uttered urgently and at Christmas parties—prove this again and again:
love lives in peculiarities.
Two weeks after watching “Queen of Earth,” Cam took me to the revival of “
Interstellar
.”
When the movie started, I rested my head on his shoulder.
Cam walked over and gently lifted my skull.
“Christopher Nolan did not direct this movie from the side,” he whispered.
Three weeks and four movies later, I told him I loved him.
During the five years we were together, Cam and I were great companions.
When we broke up two years ago, it was because our lives had drifted drastically apart;
our personal and professional overlap disintegrated while we were busy finding ourselves.
We tried to make it work: couples therapy, opening up the relationship, quaint hotel rooms.
Nothing helped.
Now when I look at Cam's social media, the person I see is
almost unrecognizable
.
His physical appearance has transformed, from the color of his hair to the cadence of his walk.
He has a different wardrobe and a different job in a different state;
The pieces of our lives are no longer interchangeable.
But on Letterboxd, Cam hasn't changed;
In his profile I am greeted by the diligent record he makes of the films he sees, just as always.
And the person who reviews them is the person with whom I shared my life for five brilliant years.
“
Oppenheimer”
was the first Christopher Nolan film to be released since Cam and I broke up, and my interest in seeing it was neutral.
I saw my friends go in twos and threes, telling me good, bad and boring experiences.
With peer pressure mounting, I decided that watching “Oppenheimer” was up to Cam's opinion.
In the meantime, I watched “Barbie,” “Dress Rehearsal,” and “Barbie” again.
Starting around “Barbenheimer
” weekend
, I started checking out Cam's Letterboxd profile.
I saw how it registered “Barbie” (four and a half stars out of five), “Transformers: The awakening of the beasts” (two stars) and “Talk to me” (three and a half stars).
I read your reviews and felt comforted.
On his page, I experienced a taste of time travel: Cam and I may not exist together today, but the relationship we share will
never disappear.
Cam finally saw “Oppenheimer” almost a month after its premiere.
He drove six hours, crossing state lines, because he wanted the perfect theater (IMAX), format (70mm), and seat (H8).
His patience for what he cared deeply about was immense.
Cam rated “Oppenheimer” three stars, “technically amazing, but mostly
hollow
. ”
It was decided: I wouldn't see her.
Falling in love is about seeing how good something can be.
And with Cam I learned to go to the movies:
the large popcorn is essential, the importance of a Coca-Cola Freestyle machine is exponential and, if there is the option of watching something in a recliner, you accept it.
Under Cam's influence, my love of movies went from hobby to cult.
As the curtain closed on our honeymoon phase, Cam's particular preferences became a litmus test for our relationship.
After a few years, I found them irritating and was desperate for a change.
I wanted to go to the small
independent movie theaters
around me, try new restaurants, have a date night.
Instead, it was AMC Burbank, always AMC Burbank.
When “Dunkirk” came out, Cam insisted on seeing it in an IMAX theater.
I wasn't interested in war movies, but it was his eternal companion.
The steep stadium seats at the movie theater made me nauseous.
The only thing I remember about “Dunkirk” is that I was very cold.
And the worry that if I tried to get up and leave, I might
fall into the abyss.
I had my own cantankerous preferences, most of which Cam graciously accepted.
When we moved in together, he adopted my 10pm bedtime.
When the world seemed too overwhelming and I refused to watch anything new, he would stay in bed with me and watch Gilmore Girls, paying it the same attention as he did The Tree of Life.
He trusted Cam to know when to push and when to back off;
Without a doubt, letting it take me out of my
comfort zone
was good.
Three years into our relationship, we adopted a kitten that was found in the wheel well of a golf cart at the Sony complex.
Cam had been asking for a cat since we moved in together;
I wanted to wait until I had a bigger apartment.
One day, without asking me, Cam drove to the complex and returned with the kitten curled up in her lap.
Then we had a 1.9 kilo pet with raised black ears, and it was happiness.
The same peculiarities that signify adoration are also the first ones that alert you when you are falling out of love.
In our last month together, Cam and I watched a series of movies that he loved and I hated:
“Annette”, “Maligno” and, on our fifth anniversary, “Titan”.
Aggressive stories with a cold vision of the world.
When the credits rolled, I became furious, not with the pleasant anger of hating bad content, but with a deeper indignation.
I was horrified that my partner was wasting my time or, worse still, that he misunderstood me to the point of believing that those films were going to give me something.
The proof was on the screen:
we had grown apart
.
When Cam and I first broke up, all I could watch were TV shows I'd seen before;
She only endured the stories when she knew how they ended.
Months passed.
I started little by little, with independent cinemas.
I saw “Licorice Pizza” and “The Worst Person in the World.”
When I returned to the movies, a newfound muscle memory took over and I delved into the world.
Thanks to Cam, going to the movies became second nature.
I had the buffers I needed to spend time alone: endless appointments with myself to go on when nothing seemed feasible.
Minutes after asking me if I had followed him on Letterboxd, Cam texted me again to tell me that he still cared about me and that seeing my name pop up like that was hurtful.
He kindly asked me to
stop following him.
With that, the illuminated marquee on my chest went out.
For Cam, moving forward requires letting go.
But I don't want to let it go.
To cure myself, I go to the movies.
In the cold darkness, I reunite with myself and the relationships that shaped me.
In “Interstellar,” the fifth dimension is where gravity can transcend time, allowing communication between eras.
Cam doesn't want me in his life, but I want him in mine.
So I subscribe to the AMC A-list service.
I arrive early and buy a large popcorn.
I sit in the center.
I take refuge.
On AMC Burbank,
Nicole Kidman
looks out from the big screen and says, “Heartbreak feels good in a place like this.”
Is not wrong.
c.2024 The New York Times Company