Movies That Made Us
Vol. One
“Movies That Made Us” is a recurring series where various contributors share brief reflections on a movie that shaped them in some meaningful way into the person they are today—morally, ethically, professionally, familially, aesthetically, or beyond.
While You Were Sleeping
Mallory Everton
Picking a single film that “made me” was harder than my first marathon, and I collapsed at the finish line covered in blood, so that’s really saying something. I decided to go with the delightful and deliciously nineties While You Were Sleeping, (starring Sandra Bullock, directed by Jon Turteltaub). I loved this movie so much as a kid. I loved the zany, dramatic pickle the main character gets herself into (which forces her to pose as the fiancée of an attractive stranger to his family while he’s in a coma). And I loved that, sure, it’s a romantic comedy, but the romance is really about Lucy falling for Peter’s entire family, not just his brother (the pickle gets picklier!). But my favorite thing about this movie is how downright lovable every last character is. Even Lucy’s creepy neighbor Joe Fusco Junior is portrayed with warmth and humor. As established in one of the best dinner scenes you’ll ever see in your life, each family member has their own quirks and comedic voice and their own connection with Lucy. When I’m at my very best, this is how I like to see the world too: as nothing but a bunch of lovable characters (whose faults are more likely to make me giggle than get a rise out of me) all talking over each other at Christmas dinner.
Dead Poets Society
Tyler Johnson
In Dead Poets Society, Robin Williams plays high school English teacher John Keating. Ethan Hawke plays Todd, a boy so quiet he has great difficulty speaking in front of friends, let alone in front of a crowd. About midway through the movie, Professor Keating assigns his boys to write a poem. Todd writes draft after draft but discards them each in turn as worthless. But the day of reckoning comes, and Professor Keating calls Todd in front of the class to read his poem. Todd protests that he didn’t write anything but Professor Keating sees through the ruse and calls him up anyway, has him close his eyes, and then walks in slow circles clockwise around Todd as he pulls the poem from his sub-conscious, line by line, as the camera circles counterclockwise, to mesmerizing effect. With fragments of the lines he had written but then discarded still available in his mind, and prompted by the expert step-by-step teaching of Professor Keating, Todd extemporaneously composes a poem about a “sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds [his] brain,” rhapsodizing into a meditation about “truth” being like “a blanket” that will “never cover any of us” as we sojourn through this life and “cry, wail, and scream.” That scene sunk deep into my subconscious and has ever since informed my vision for what it would mean if I ever became a truly great teacher of anything.
The Neverending Story
Melissa Leilani Larson
When I was in the sixth grade, I badgered my dad into purchasing a VCR. I studied the manual and learned to record movies off the TV, particularly on Saturday or Sunday nights, when somewhat recent Hollywood releases would air on one of the three main networks. One summer Saturday, I recorded The Neverending Story.
I can’t tell you how often I watched and rewatched that movie that summer. I was obsessed. I loved the way it moved back and forth from reality to fantasy and the way the two worlds eventually collided. I can still conjure moments from it: a mountain of rock shifting and suddenly speaking. A kid soaring through the sky on the back of a furry dragon (perhaps Falcor was actually a dog?). The heartbreaking scene in the swamp when. . . Well, that’s a spoiler. But if you’ve seen it, you know what I’m talking about.
An avid reader, my eleven-year-old self gloried in the idea that reading a book could transport me to a magical place. That summer, sliding a VHS tape through a gleaming plastic door again and again, I learned firsthand that film could do the same.
Speed Racer
Conor B. Hilton
One cool, late spring night in 2008 at an Edwards 14 in south-eastern Idaho, Speed Racer, the Wachowskis’ follow-up to the Matrix trilogy, changed my life.
As the film shifts into its third act, there’s a confrontation between Pops Racer and his son, the titular Speed, as Speed has learned about some corruption in the racing world and wants to root it out. Pops says, “You think you can drive a car and change the world? It doesn’t work like that!” To which Speed replies, “Maybe not, but it’s all I know how to do and I gotta do somethin’.” This defiant fool’s hope is at the heart of the movie and, since that midnight premiere, has been in my heart too.
The film’s power lies in its relentless commitment to knowing exactly what it is and being that thing to the nth degree. In a lesser movie’s hands this dialogue would break the spell and induce groans. Yet, watching Speed Racer is a chance to see as a child again. That night, and every time I’ve watched it since, I grew giddier and giddier as the film progressed, overwhelmed with delight at the boundless sincerity on display, laughing out loud with pure, childlike joy during the climactic race sequence where Speed harnesses the power of hope, friendship, and family to race to victory.
Go, Speed Racer, go!
The Castle
Sarah Perkins Sabey
Is it embarrassing to admit that one of my favorite movies of all time is the Australian equivalent of Napoleon Dynamite? The Castle is a film at the unholy intersection of legal drama and America’s Funniest Home Videos. What it lacks in budget, it compensates for with painfully tacky home decor, specious legal arguments, and male center parts cut straight across the cowlick. The plot follows a working-class family fighting the compulsory acquisition of their home by the local airport. While the film drops subtle, profound nods toward Indigenous land claims, those insights are interspersed with a lawyer who can’t read Roman numerals, a mom bedazzling an ergonomic chair, and a fake chimney added purely for “charm.” It’s the movie I quote more than any other. It’s zany, heartfelt, and deeply endearing. I do feel obligated to flag a handful of F-bombs. However, I’ll flag my flag with another disclaimer: Every single one is delivered in a charming Australian accent. If that softens the blow, go watch The Castle. Then come tell me about it.
Tyler Johnson lives in northern California. He doesn’t think much of most of Taylor Swift’s music but is all in for Folklore.
Mel is an award-winning playwright and screenwriter with a deep love for fish and chips. She enjoys travel, puzzles, nice paper, and nicer pens. Every December 16 Mel celebrates Jane Austen’s birthday by viewing Sense and Sensibility (1995).
Conor is a father of three, who loves to read Gothic novels, to watch everything Wes Anderson touches, and to dance to 90s ska-punk while doing the dishes.
Sarah Perkins passionately believes that Charlotte’s Web is the greatest piece of children’s literature ever written, with A Sick Day for Amos McGee earning an honorable mention. She feels slightly embarrassed that she is always slightly embarrassed when people kiss in movies.
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