J’s review published on Letterboxd:
when temporary euphoria has washed away from the noise of a party, board game victories, a buzzing bottle of wine, and the sight of people huddled together in a bus with smiles on their faces and warmth on their cheeks, emptiness creep onto their spaces in silence. the night becomes colder. the blurry bus windows reflect blurry places, blurry people walking along pedestrian lanes, along the sidewalks, and blurry lights under the line of trees form entwined shadows of differing images. the trip home weighs like a departure from home, from god-knows-what-where-who months ago, from myself minutes ago. but there is one thing that remains unchanged against the surprise and underwhelm of circumstances, the waning of relationships, the waxing of some, boredom at work, overtime at work, in forbidden / unrequited daydreams of desire, the myriad of emotions sometimes too monstrous to handle but also calm enough to hold, the dates tearing from the calendar like chipping paint on a wall: my ardent love for Carol.
everything about Carol. every variation of yearning, letting go, and falling back together; every word, gesture, touch; every scene it sketches with utmost care and tenderness; every year-end closure it sends off with a hopeful and affectionate note once the credits roll; and every enthusiastic greeting of Merry Christmas / Happy New Year in my ear whilst it takes me in with its impressive cinematography despite the strange, unavoidable occurrence of disappointment and gloominess during and after the holidays. whilst it may be impossible to ask for my own Easy Living, may this remain the same every time a year is knocked off from my life. and may Rooney Mara release a good film before I decay. amen.