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Where is Freddie Mercury: The Need for a Hero in Science-Fiction Films

Experiencing the uniqueness of Queen’s Freddie Mercury, an occidental bystander will mark him with the distinctness of being both masculine in his rock-star stage persona and feminine in his private-life affairs and outfits (by no means is this observation made in full). According to Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Mercury exhibits heroism in avoiding the binaries of illusion—these illusions accounted by Nicholas of Cusa’s idea of the “’Wall of Paradise,’ which conceals God from human sight”—first experienced in the Old Testament’s myth of Adam’s exile from the Garden of Eden.[i] “The removal of the feminine into another form symbolizes the beginning of the fall from perfection into duality…and thereupon the building of the Wall of Paradise.”[ii] Adam experiences this fall from perfection and in doing so creates, in the conscious world, duality—found in the distinction between Adam/Eve, man/woman, or masculinity/femininity.

Resembling Julia Kristeva’s concept of the abject—literally defined as “cast out”[iii]—femininity is cast outside, distinct from the “Self” with clear physical boundaries or barriers separating the two (according to the biblical text of Eve forming from Adam’s rib). The Self, not to be confused with identity, herein means humanity at large. It is this “binary opposition,” theorized by Markus Rheindorf, between bodies (the Self and the other) where “articulations of unresolved cultural conflicts” take place in an externalized, fictional world; Rheindorf further defines the “other”—in science fiction films—as “embodying fears of various cultural others such as the female, the homosexual, the technological, and the pathogenic.”[iv] In this essay, I will be focusing on the duality between the Self and the other in two science-fiction films in terms of technology and ideology as it relates to humanity, rather than physical bodies/boundaries and “grotesque” abjection.

Conflict naturally arises from opposites; Freddie Mercury dissolves his persona of the distinction between masculinity and femininity, and travels “between which the heroes always pass.”[v] For the films Metropolis (1927) and Alphaville (1965), the only conceivable resolution to their conflicts is in the hero’s journey in bringing to light all that is dark and repressed from the unconscious and dissolve the illusory duality in the conscious world. The hero today (circa 1949 according to Campbell) questions whether “to bring to light again the lost Atlantis of the coordinated soul.”[vi] This draws a nice parallel to Lemmy Caution bringing light to those who need it most (will be discussed later). Campbell continues: “the lines of communication between the conscious and the unconscious zones of the human psyche have all been cut, and we have been split in two.”[vii]

Science-fiction films explore the conscious externalizations of the unconscious, where images of repression are present in the hard line between monster/other and the Self. In physical space, the boundary of the Self—represented with the human body as containing all that distinguishes subjectivity from objectivity—is constantly in threat of assault from the “other”—represented through technology in science fiction as distinct from subjectivity and humanity. The repressed represent the dangers of exploring the Self (both consciously and unconsciously) without what Campbell refers to as “lines of communication” to help guide the Self—previous guides in primitive cultures (before conscious maturity and the extreme scrutiny of the unknown)[viii] being myths, tales, and rites of passage.

This paper will examine the need for a hero in the two science fiction films to reveal the illusions of duality and restore humanity to societies and technologies that seek to control it. Rationality through technology becomes a force of oppression in these films, controlling the masses into uniformity (objectivity without subjectivity), thus creating an illusion or representation of reality. The inherent paradox of rationality through technology is this: attempting to control the natural order of humanity and culture through ideology by forming boundaries and reinforcing them with dualities that are not in themselves natural or whole.

In Metropolis, the working class (hands/irrationality) is in direct conflict with Fredersen (head/rationality). The former resembles a robotic-prison in their living and working routines underground while Fredersen sits high above on his tech-rational throne. Both socially and spatially, the two are separate at the start of the film—this separation acts as the externalized conflict of the world that needs redemption/mediation. The repressed unconscious of Fredersen’s modernity morphs the true, virgin-Maria (symbolizing pure emotion) into a vamp-figure, the “false Maria.” Through technological means, Fredersen creates this figure of oppression and false emotions to strengthen the borders of his externalized unconscious and make a false reality that he claims to be “natural”—specifically when the workers pledge allegiance to the false-Maria and follow her wicked ways. Were Fredersen to create a true reality of nature, no conflict would arise and therefore no film be made; but due to the inherent paradox of rationality, conflicts arise and the events of the hero’s journey develop into a grand spectacle.

The hero, or mediator according to R. L. Rutsky in the essay Between Modernity and Magic, is Freder,[ix] son of Fredersen. Applied to Campbell’s hero archetype, Freder, to achieve resolution, must embody “a perfect human spirit alert to the needs and hopes of the heart.”[x] Similarly, Rutsky finds that “[Freder] is supposedly the ‘heart’ that enables the division of the head and the hands, his father and the workers, to be overcome, transformed into a whole, living body once again.”[xi] This is evident in the resolution of the film: the last intertitle piece of dialogue from Maria reveals the “brain and hand want to join together, but they are missing the heart…You [Freder], as Mediator, can show them the way to each other…”.[xii] Thus, Freder joins the pair together, expels the binary, and leaves the world in a more natural, living order contrasted from the beginning.


Another science-fiction film to exhibit an explicit hero in conflict with the tech-established order comes with Lemmy Caution in Alphaville. Chris Darke describes the film “as an allegory of cinematic light,”[xiii] with the generalized conflict as the city of Alphaville not having light—like humans before Prometheus.[xiv] Alpha-60, an omnipresent computer-based intelligence, controls the city, keeping humans in the dark: both physically and ideologically (humans as robots without emotions or thought).

The representation of technological life controlling humanity is more prominent in Alphaville than in Metropolis, where humans conform to robotic standards of puppetry and submission for the benefit of technology, rather than a greedy human (although this can be debated). As Darke notes, Alphaville reveals modes of hegemonic authority through various artistic techniques—light, character/camera movement, sound, and poetry—to reveal the artificial qualities of the idealized city: darkness (unenlightenment), circular patterns (repetition of oppressive-order), and controlled speech/thought (control over humans through ideology).[xv] With this influence, humans repeat their lives continuously, unable to record memories, with no way to escape or change the order—i.e. losing their humanity without the ability to recall it. Again, rationality is a paradox; but in this instance, an omnipresent force of technology—distinct from the organic Fredersen—tries to conform humanity to something not entirely human (resembling Freud’s uncanny).


Lemmy Caution, as the hero to restore humanity in the city of technological hegemony, enters this world “armed with light.”[xvi] Lemmy uses physical light (enlightenment) with planar lines (progression) and free-thought poetry (subjectivity) to defend against the hegemony and establish humanity once again—obviously an over-simplified summary but it works for now.

Ferdinand de Saussure from his Course in General Linguistics defines semiology as the study “of signs as part of social life,” with language being “a system of signs expressing ideas.”[xvii] Cultures express their ideology (signs of value and uniqueness) into physical consciousness through language; and through the control of language (like in Alphaville), one is able to control the ideology of a culture (famously abused by Hitler). The greed-king (Fredersen or Alpha-60) conforms the culture to fit their own “economic-political organization;”[xviii] in the context of science-fiction films, this malevolent force is some form of technology, monsters, or aliens that embody/externalize the fears of various cultural others attempting to assault the boundaries of our own cultures in the attempt to make us less human, more other. The hero means to mediate between cultures, between rationality and irrationality, and between the Self and other to preserve subjectivity and humanity.


PS: I split some of the larger paragraphs up from the original to make it easier to read through but in doing so may have caused some ideas and evidence to split into two or more paragraphs of thought.

Lastly, this short essay is designed to introduce the idea of hero and mythmaking, according to Joseph Campbell’s theories, into science fiction stories; by NO regards will this cover more than surface-level observations and assessments. If you would like to argue or add an obvious point I missed, simply send an email.



 Alphaville. Directed by Jean-Luc Godard. 1965. France: Athos Films, 1998. DVD.

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Novato: New World Library, 2008. Print.

Darke, Chris. “The shape of things.” In Alphaville, 38-54. Illinois: University of Illinois Press, 2005. E-journal.

De Saussure, Ferdinand. Couse in General Linguistics. Chicago and La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1986. Print.

 Metropolis. Directed by Fritz Lang. 1927. Berlin, Germany; Kino Lorber films, 2010. Blu Ray.

Rheindorf, Markus. “’The Line Must be Drawn Here’: The Body as the Final Frontier in Science Fiction Films of the 1990’s.” In Reconstruction (2007). E-journal.

Rutsky, R L. “Between Modernity and Magic.” In Film Analysis, a Norton Reader. New York: W. W. Norton, 2005.



[i] Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces (Novato: New World Library, 2008), 73.

[ii] Ibid., 131.

[iii] Rheindorf, Markus. “’The Line Must be Drawn Here’: The Body as the Final Frontier in Science Fiction Films of the 1990’s,” in Reconstruction (2007), para. 14.

[iv] Ibid., para. 2.

[v] Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 73.

[vi] Ibid., 334.

[vii] Ibid., 73.

[viii] Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 333-334.

[ix] Rutsky, R. L., “Between Modernity and Magic,” (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2013), 163.

[x] Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 272.

[xi] Rutsky, Between Modernity and Magic, 163.

[xii] Metropolis, directed by Fritz Lang (1927; Berlin, Germany; Kino Lorber films, 2010), Blu Ray.

[xiii] Darke, Chris. “The shape of things,” in Alphaville (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2005), 39.

[xiv] Ibid., 41.

[xv] Ibid., 39-44.

[xvi] Ibid., 42.

[xvii] De Saussure, Ferdinand. Course in General Linguistics (Chicago and La Salle: Open Court Classics, 1986), 15.

[xviii] Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 334.

Subjectivity and Form in “Shame”

Subjectivity and Form in Shame

Director and writer Steve McQueen really proved his worth in the filmmaking world with this film. He utilizes a shocking ecstasy of emotions to give loneliness and sex an overwhelming appeal.

The film begins with a montage of sorts with Brandon (Michael Fassbender) living his white-blue desaturated lifestyle. He often employs hookers and clearly is not committed to anybody. The only audio heard, besides the sweeping orchestra, is of his sister Sissy—Carey Mulligan—calling everyday and trying to reach out to Brandon.

The scenes juxtapose with Brandon sitting on the subway eyeing down one of the young females on board (who is clearly eyeing him back—they are practically eye fucking). She gets up and stands near him while waiting to get off—clearly showing a wedding ring—Brandon gets up and stands behind her, the subway door opens, the women flees, and Brandon loses her after going up the stairs. Sorry Brandon, maybe next time.

The monotonous actions on screen accompany a powerfully dramatic orchestra alongside a ticking. The deep strings and hums remind me of a dramatic climax reaching its peak, but instead this orchestra plays before we even learn Brandon’s name. Something deeper beyond the surface is happening here.

Subjectivity in a drama is hard to pull off. Some directors create a very compelling or sympathetic character, some create a dramatic lifestyle to which the characters need to escape, but McQueen pulls it off with subjective music and mise-en-scene.

The orchestra only plays for eight minutes at the beginning and another nine minutes at the end. In between, the music that plays is either classical (Brandon) or pop (Sissy). All the music is diegetic, meaning they have a place within the film to which it plays, unlike the orchestra.

The orchestra does not play to the overall tone of the film, but rather plays as the internal drama of Brandon. The film’s style externalizes Brandon’s emotions.

In the beginning, the orchestra plays out while the montage of Brandon’s lifestyle plays out, giving it a sense of dramatic addiction. A life of mindless indulgences is no way to live a healthy life.

The use of mise-en-scene throughout the film helps the subjectivity of Brandon too. The beginning montage begins with static camera movements, washed out, white-blue images, and little to no emotion from Brandon. That is how Brandon sees his life: slow moving, bland, and boring.

The story begins with the arrival of his sister Sissy. Brandon enters his house after having sex with a woman he just met at the bar. He notices that the door is unlocked; somebody broke in, and Brandon hears loud pop rock music playing. He slowly enters, sees nobody, grabs his bat, and heads to the only room in the house with a closed door—the bathroom. He enters with weapon in position, but instead finds his sister showering. They are both startled half to death; Brandon forgot that she has a key to his apartment. He leaves and turns off the music.

The music here is loud and obnoxious, because that is how Brandon hears it. It may not seem that way to Sissy or anyone else, but not if we are viewing the film as Brandon.

This music in a way signifies how Sissy is to Brandon. With his sister around, Brandon needs to reevaluate his destructive lifestyle as well as deal with his sister’s emotional dependence. Brandon is far from a compassionate person. The annoyance of her visit externalizes through the annoyance of the music.

Sissy convinces Brandon to have him come watch her perform at an up-scale club in New York. Brandon brings his work friend and boss David. Sissy performs the saddest possible version of “New York, New York” ever uttered, which forces a tear or two down Brandon’s cheek. Afterwards, Sissy joins them at the table and they begin to drink. Cut to a shot of the three in the cab, and Sissy and David are making out. They all enter Brandon’s apartment and the couple make a B-line towards Brandon’s bedroom. After having a little emotional breakdown in the living room, Brandon goes for a nice jog with classical music playing in his headset.

The classical music that Brandon plays throughout the film shows a certain balance Brandon is trying to achieve. The structure and melody of Bachto Beethoven has given peace to listeners for hundreds of years. Brandon listens to it in order to give himself a little order to his structured lifestyle. In addition, if the overly dramatic orchestra is what is playing in Brandon’s mind, classical music would definitely sooth those sad strings.

This scene in the club is the emotional turning point for Brandon. The shot holds on Sissy’s face for so long because he cannot look away. A quick shot of Brandon shows him getting emotional, probably because he is realizing he is getting emotional, but turns back to Sissy because the performance is so emotionally powerful.


The scene drowns the frame with warm, yellow-orange colors, as opposed to the daily white-blue color grading of Brandon’s life. This is the case because Brandon is literally viewing Sissy in a new light.

The first time we view something in life (anything from an event to a person), we hold it in a more colorful or warmer light than in subsequent viewings. Shame understands and uses this concept brilliantly.

The reason the singing scene is so saturated is because that is how Brandon is viewing the scene. Inversely, the reason the daily activities and lifestyle of Brandon are filled with bland, white-blue colors is because Brandon has gotten so used to seeing his life that way. All the meaning and saturation has fled from the scene, meaning they fled from Brandon’s mind too.

Brandon starts to flirt with a female co-worker, Marianne (Nicole Beharie), and eventually takes her on a date. This date is my favorite scene in the film. The scene floods with warm colors—like the singing scene—so it must be something new for Brandon.

More evidence that this dating concept is new is from the extremely long shot to introduce the two at the table. Brandon feels as stiff and trapped in the scene as does he camera. Not even editing can help him out of this. Eventually after they start to make small talk and feel more comfortable, the shot changes.

Another smaller aspect I noticed is the waiter. He may not actually seem that awkward normally, but if we continue with the Brandon subjective view, the awkwardness would make sense because Brandon is not accustomed to fine dining. Because he is not used to it, the waiter’s job would seem a bit off-putting to him, and therefore the audience.

A day or so after the dinner date, Brandon takes Marianne to an apartment so they could have sex. After a bit of foreplay, Brandon is ready to penetrate, except he fails. Right at that moment, Brandon gets off Marianne and sulks.

We learn that Brandon is not able to hold a relationship for longer than a few months, probably due to his shameful life of sexual addiction. He fails to have sex with Marianne because he just cannot be in a formal relationship. Although they are just having sex without commitments, Brandon is scared into interpreting it as feelings, which he cannot retain. He even falls flat on having a relationship with his sister.

Brandon finally tells Sissy that she has to leave because she is too much of a burden for him to handle. After arguing about Sissy sleeping with David (who is married with a kid), Sissy tries to explain that they are the only family they have for each other. They need to stick together. However, Brandon refuses and journeys into his unraveling.

Throughout the night Brandon visits a bar, flirts with a man’s girlfriend, gets punched and kicked around a little, goes to a gay bar, makes out with and gets fellated by a random guy, and to end the night has a three-way with two prostitutes. In one night, he binged and tried to expel all sexual deviancies he could.

There are a countless number of things going on in this ten-minute sequence of events: most notably the musical reprisal of the orchestra, the mise-en-scene going out of control, and the feeling of jouissance being displayed on screen.

The term for a musical part playing again in a film is known as a ritornello (Italian for “little return”). Only in this case it is not so little. The point of the ritornello in film is to signify a new beginning. The new beginning hear can mean that Brandon might actually be learning form this destructive behavior, but that is not the case.

The orchestra does not play again the same way it did in the beginning. Here, the strings play much louder and longer, giving off a piercing shriek. The emotions that Brandon is feeling personifies through the orchestra. The shrieking is due to Brandon practically losing his is mind through sexual indulging.

The mise-en-scene goes out of control just life the music. At the gay club, the red glow images illuminate the scene. The intense color of passion and sexual gratification overtake the darkness of Brandon’s life. The threesome right after bathes the picture with images of skin on skin on skin with piercing lights—like the orchestra.

The intensity of the scene is frighteningly beautiful. It does more than transform Brandon’s emotions, but also the audiences. The feeling of jouissance explains Brandon’s feelings. With no English equivalent, it can be a hard word to explain. It goes along the lines with an intense, almost visceral feeling of sexual or ecstatic gratification. It goes beyond all normal feel-good pleasures and approaches an almost hurts-so-good feeling.

That is how Brandon is feeling. He has fully peaked his sexual, shameful lifestyle in this wild night of events. Along with the orchestra and mise-en-scene, Shame comes as close to displaying jouissance as possible through the medium of film.

That is why this film is so important. What other film displays such an intense feeling of sexual desire and satisfaction? McQueen’s efforts stand second to nobody and deserve praise.

After coming back from the crazy evening-morning, he listens to Sissy’s voicemails and becomes increasingly concerned—he can sense something is wrong. After reaching is apartment, he finds the white angel bathed in blood on the bathroom floor with a slit wrist. She went across not down so Brandon was able to call 911 and get her rushed to a hospital.

Once there, we see that Sissy has many scars with the same pattern of cutting that got her to the hospital in the first place. She has emotional scarring just like Brandon. The most powerful line of the film is spoken by Sissy during her healing, “We’re not bad people, we just come from a bad place.” This is writing. This is truth.

The narrative closes open-ended. We do not exactly know whether Brandon will continue with his lifestyle or if Sissy will cut her wrists again. They clearly fall into these cycles of emotional wrought, so why would it not happen again.


One clue might come from the last shots in the film in which Brandon is on the subway and the same girl from the beginning is sitting across from him. We see the ring again—and so does Brandon. She makes the same move by getting up and getting ready to get off next to Brandon. Maybe this time she actually wants him to follow her out, but he does nothing. He is ending, or at least altering his course of action in trying to seek out women. This is just a small step; it is hard to tell if Brandon has changed his ways forever.

Thoughts on “Boyhood”

Boyhood is wonderfully happy. IFC Films called this a “nostalgic time capsule of the recent past and an ode to growing up and parenting.” I couldn’t agree more. Throughout the film we watch a young boy, Mason (Ellar Coltrane), grow up from seven years of age until moving into college at eighteen. And this film is literally showing him grow up; it took twelve years to shoot (and crazy enough only forty-five total days of shooting from 2002 until 2013). I don’t know how director Richard Linklater (previous works including Slacker, Dazed and Confused, and Fast Food Nation) and friends were able to pull this off, but bravo to the highest degree.

The film reveals plenty of the ideal working class, single mother lifestyle and struggles through the eyes of the brilliant Patricia Arquette. The poise and demeanor of this mother is inspiring to all in similar situations. She is a single mother who had to balance school, work, and kids (not to mention the drunken abusive asshole husbands). She is able to pull through and motivate anybody she came into contact with, especially the laborer who worked on her septic lines. He cleaned up his accent, attended school, and got a job as a manager indoors because of her motivating words.

The dad, played by Ethan Hawke, is the typical young bachelor––equipped with his own GTO. Throughout the film he has a go-lucky attitude that really helps facilitate situations with the kids who have to live in an abusive, struggling household. The contrast between the hard working mother and easy rider father gives their kids an equilibrium that is able to keep their lives relatively stable.

The daughter, played by the director’s real life daughter, Lorelei Linklater, is the perfect annoying sister. Right away she gives Mason issues and headaches that are otherwise avoidable if she wasn’t there. As they grow older the figure turns into a more calm, loving and down to earth individual that we don’t see much of unless around Mason. She comes up here and there, but never really has the same effect on Mason as when they were kids. She is the one family member of the four who doesn’t really have the typical character arc because it isn’t needed. The film is about Mason and how he goes through boyhood, no need to add melodramas about his older sister. This realistic portrayal of siblings at a young age through teen-hood really helps the realism of the story.

Ellar Coltrane was given the lottery of a lifetime by getting this role. He has the camera on him for twelve years of his boyhood. Each year or so we get a sneak peak back into his life as if the audience is a distant relative that only sees him during family gatherings (coincidentally during tragic events). We get to see all the early hardships he had to deal with at a very early age and quickly see him age before our eyes and the only way to really distinguish between the yearly transitions are his haircuts. We find out that Mason is the more quiet spoken, gloomy kid of the class who is more into the artistic and creative side of life. He photographs for the school and finds a particular interest in the art. He sees life differently from the other kids his age, which his teacher tells him while in the dark room.

He has conversations about how people nowadays are robots that can’t live without checking Facebook or text messages. And he’s right. He grew up in a time when technology was growing to rule the households. He tries talking about this with his ex girlfriend, Sheena, but she doesn’t seem to pay much attention or show interest. Among the theme of human growth is the idea of technological growth and innovation that dominates everyone nowadays. I dare you to go out in public and try and find a person not listening to music on their phone, texting, or checking Facebook. Mason sees this and finds an issue with it; humans are becoming just as robotic/functioned/conditioned as the devices they are using.


The movie is somewhat a blend of Neorealism and drama. Many scenes in the story could have taken a melodramatic route, but didn’t because its realistic. The film does use a couple well known actors (which isn’t part of the true Neorealistic facet), but who else would agree on to a twelve year film shoot? The film was shot with a budget of only $2.4 million. This may seem like a lot to some people, but this budget was spread out through twelve years (roughly half a million a year). Films in 2014 cost about ten to one hundred times as much money as this one, so this film is as low a budget as it comes. The best aspect about the film is the episodic realism. Each scene by itself doesn’t mean that much without being placed in the film as a whole. In a way, none of the scenes really push the story along like a typical narrative, but instead periodically show the growth of an individual. That’s what Linklater wants to show us. He wants the audience to understand what its like growing up in a situation like Mason’s in a very true manner.

It’s not until the finale of the movie where we get the gut wrenching realizations of growing up. Not to say the scenes with the abusive husband wasn’t gut wrenching, but it was early on before watching the kids or story grow up.

The last scene with Mason and his father isn’t as dramatic as the one with his mother, but it still answers a few questions and sets the stage for the final themes of the movie. They get to talking about Mason’s recent breakup with Sheena and how it should not bother him; no reason to cry over spilled milk. Mason, being the teenager that he is, thinks there is something more to the relationship than there was, but fact is they broke up because they weren’t on the same vibe (which is what his father says). Mason then asks what the point of all this is, meaning what’s the point of life. His dad laughs and claims he and nobody else knows, life just happens and we’re along for the ride. And that’s what happened with him; his father now has a loving wife and toddler after years of being single. That’s what Mason should learn from him. Life just kinda works itself out and there’s no reason to fret over the smaller issues.

The last scene that includes the mother is with Mason packing up and about to move to college. In this scene Mason playfully says he wants to get rid of the very first picture he shot that his mother framed and kept for him. This tore her apart. The struggles and hardships this mother had to go through was tough, but losing her only son is by far the worst. After breaking down in front of Mason, she explains that life wasn’t as fulfilling as she thought it would be. This soliloquy says it all, “First I get married, have kids, end up with two ex-husbands, go back to school, get my degree, get my masters, send both my kids off to college. What’s next? My own fucking funeral?” Having to realize life after sending the kids off to college scares the shit out of people because they make this illogical jump in their minds. Her last and most powerful line of the film is, “I just thought there would be more.” I think we all think that life is a huge adventure when we are kids because that’s what our imagination tells us. It isn’t until later that we find out that life is just about the hardest and shortest thing to progress through.

The final scene is a nice way to wrap up the film. Mason is out hiking at Big Bend with his roommate, roommate’s girlfriend, and her roommate Nicole (Jessi Mechler). Just a side note, much earlier in the film when Mason got the haircut and was forced to go to class, he got a note from a girl saying his hair was “kewl.” That girl’s name was Nicole, might or might not be the same Nicole as this one (but I definitely think it is). So Mason and Nicole are sitting down on a magnificent rock formation in a slightly secluded spot away from the other couple. Another reference to the beginning is that early in the story, Mason was really into collecting rocks and had a small gathering of his own. It’s only fitting that the film ends with Mason sitting on this enormous rock formation, as if the years that have gone by have grown the rocks to this size.

He and Nicole get to talking about seizing the moment, which Nicole objects to. She explains that we don’t seize the moment, the moment seizes us. “Right now is always happening.” And that’s what the whole movie is about. It shows phases of Mason’s life in which the moments seize him. That’s why he feels such an affinity towards photography; photographs capture and seize what is happening right now, at the exact moment. Nicole feels a “creative freedom” about dancing that Mason understands through his photography. Nicole gets him in this metaphysical way and he feels a mutual vibe with her, as opposed to Sheena. Also its only fitting that Nicole is a dance teacher, and Mason’s mother is also a teacher. They don’t kiss in the end for a very specific reason, because we would expect it. Typical dramas and dramedies usually have the main character and the love interest kiss in the end (and sometimes much more). But this film was set out to show the true nature of moments like this. Linklater pulls this off perfectly and I couldn’t help but admire it as the screen cut to credits.