He was a friend of mine

You've all been clamoring for content, so here goes. I'm afraid I'm going to get a little bit Harry Knowles for a minute here.

Over the weekend, I finally saw Brokeback Mountain. I thought that because I'd read and eventually come to terms with the book, I'd be prepared for the film. Nope. Not in the slightest. It destroyed me. I just... well, I guess I just don't know how to deal with the emotions that it contains. And meanwhile, it instantly became the best movie I've seen in 2005, bar none.

"Haunting" is a way overused word in the movie press, but at least this once, it's true. The damn thing has hovered in the back of my head for days now, and I find myself thinking about it at odd moments. American Beauty had the same effect on me, as did Donnie Darko. (Which I got for Christmas, thanks Adam!)

I seriously can't imagine anyone... well, anyone I know, at least, not liking it. Ever fallen in love with someone who didn't love you back? Or, maybe worse, did love you back but somehow you could just never manage to put it together? There's this ache that never really goes away, and it's painful but also in some strange way comforting. "Tis better to have loved and lost," they say, and it's true but in the same sort of way as "may you have an interesting life".

I may have discussed it in this blog before, but it's still a good homework question: why is West Side Story more tragic than its supposed inspiration, Romeo and Juliet? Discuss.

Everyone who I know reads this regularly, needs to go see the film. You might not know it yet, but you do. You'll thank me. In Lincoln, it opens Friday at the Grand.