the princess bride (1987)

my ex coworkers once organised a weekend movie social for the princess bride and i lied about having seen it already because i had decided that serving time with them within the metaphorical cell five days a week was sentence enough. in what can only be described as the bittersweet tragedy of retrospection gained a bit too late, i wish i hadn’t made that dumb decision in a fit of naïveté and experienced this little miracle on the legendary screen of prince charles cinema in 35mm while i still lived in my perfectly-imperfect home of six years, london. instead i experienced it beneath the musty covers of a semidilapidated santa monica hostel on a 13 inch ipad screen amid the background cacophony of five strangers snoring in sync. but, even amid the stench and snores, i was transported to a dreamland i had long believed only childhood whimsy could unlock and mourned losing the keys to as a soon-to-be 25 year old with an ever-eroding sense of imagination and ever-amplifying sense of existential malaise. and god it felt good to escape my drab little head for two hours to disappear into reiner’s kaleidoscopic mind of endless possibilities. a great movie made by a great man of great integrity, who will live on indefinitely through both his creative legacy and voice against tyranny, as an enduring reminder that stories will outlive their creator and art will tr(i)ump(h) over avarice. rest in peace rob reiner and thank you for giving the world a piece of you. the kids will remember you very, very affectionately, and that’s not an achievement your detractors can ever claim