Call Me by Your Name

Call Me by Your Name

Every frame of this film is like the exhale of a half-smoked cigarette, a haze of a memory of a dream. This is, I’m sure, what falling in love in the eighties somewhere in Northern Italy would be like. A film for every time you’ve heard music when there’s no music playing or when you’ve started sweating in the cold winter, a fog of beauty and ugliness and confusion that is sometimes painful, sometimes awkward, suffocating you with every untrained thought. Suffocating like the drag of a cheap cigarette. 

That is what falling in love would be like, I’m sure.

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