I love nineties movies.
That’s such a globalised thing to say.
The way old me – the me not tainted by the internet and TUMBLR – would put it is ‘I love films made in the nineties’.
I do.
They make me nostalgic.
Which is funny because my life in the early nineties didn’t exist. I was just an egg.
Then in the mid-nineties I was born.
I was really a child and adolescent of the naughties.
But I do rather much prefer the nineties.
It was like the teetering cusp.
Of what?
Old and new, I suppose.
Archaic traditions marrying new age technological revolution but we were still mostly analogue so there was a lot of purity left in the world.
Now I peer out at my world through pixellated curtains and it’s a burning shambles is what it is.
But I don’t want to talk about all that. While I can, I sometimes like to hunker down under three blankets (it’s cold in my part of the world. Spring blossom appears on trees but it’s below freezing and there is frost on the grass in the mornings) and watch films made in the early 1990s.
The hair.
The clothes.
The speech.
The lack of identity politics. The lack of fury for the sake of fury.
Just people livin’ their lives – ‘unproblematically’.
Call me ‘old fashioned’. Because yes I know each time period comes with its own set of problems. But – the heart yearns for what it yearns for.
I would like to hunker down with a mug of earl grey tea with some milk and no sugar and watch films made in the nineties.
And read books written by Lucy Maud Montgomery.
And lose myself in lost lands.
Ocean Bream 