If this movie was a memory, I would be on top of a hill with the city spread before me like starlight, my lips just barely brushing those of the first boy I ever loved as smoke curled from his lungs into mine. So, so close, but not nearly close enough.
Like all good art, this is a self-indulgent fantasy. No man could make this film today and incite the emotional response which Jean Genet did in 1950. Here, touch is not the truest medium for intimacy, but silence is certainly a medium for message. You know the sound design is impeccable when my dog tilts his head at all the right moments. Also, Minute 17:20 is what Call Me By Your Name WISHES it was.
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