Laurynomaly

I admit it, I am a fangirl. I joined the hype and ran out to the local, stadium-seating available, Regal theater on Wednesday afternoon to secure tickets for the midnight showing of Dark Knight. I both marveled and gawked at the crowds of hundreds of curfew-breaking teenagers in their Batman pajamas and fuzzy slippers (I am slightly upset that I didn’t wear mine!) as my friends and I searched for adequate seating. I had every intention of seeing the movie and immediately posting a review, as there are thousands of reviews of all flavors, but I really had to postpone my collection of thoughts on the movie. I cannot just attribute it to being three in the morning when I could finally compose myself for publication. I became completely overwhelmed by the wealth of story I endured. Even in the post-viewing discuss of the movie, I sat like a traumatized child—wide-eyed with no clue as to how to find the proper words to attribute to the corresponding emotions. My entire college-educated vocabulary escaped me as my recollection of scenes from the movie played in my head and I could only surmise what had just happened in three words, “That was awesome.” I saw it again and still, the best I could articulate was, “It was great.” I was so deeply moved by it that—all delusions of grandeur aside—I found myself questioning my own morality and evaluating I have become. I really do enjoy movies that deal with both mature and fundamental human concepts. Nothing can capture my heart faster than movies that move me.

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