![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() I miss you until I close my eyes." If the moment in the car put an unfixable crack in Gia, then this seems to be the moment in which Rue first came undone. "You said as long as I live, you'll be with me forever," she says, weeping. We see her at his memorial, looking so young, reading words she's scrawled on a piece of paper in her pocket. We see her at the hospital, kissing the germy glass when her dad introduces her to her baby sister. We see Rue as a baby, being lovingly scrubbed in the bath. It isn't Rue's life that flashes before her eyes, but specifically her life with her dad. Finally, with a voice so small and plaintive that she sounds like a little kid, she tells Laurie she'll take whatever she's got. "I just wanna die," she says in jagged breaths as she lays in the tub. She's fully stocked with every drug known to man, but this point, Rue is far beyond the point of being able to catch on to this. We see that Laurie's claim is a bald-faced lie. When she asks Laurie for some pills, Laurie tells her she only has intravenous morphine - Rue would have to shoot up for the first time in order to curb her unbearable withdrawal symptoms. Rue has crossed every line in the book tonight, but it turns out, there's one she's still scared to barrel over. Now, she's able to assert complete power over the girl. When they first met, she quickly appraised Rue, clocking her as an addict and filing that information away for later use. She seems unfazed by the fact that Rue has neither the pills nor the cash, only a handful of stolen jewelry. She says it's great to be a woman, because you always have something to offer if you run out of money. Rue's so miserable she's barely paying attention, but Laurie slips some truly stomach-churning implications into their conversation. You can see Rue's little sister break in real time. This is how it feels when Rue responds to her mom's optimism by saying, "Yeah, well, everybody's mom says that, even the ones who bury their kids." You can see the words sear themselves into Gia's mind. Someone will say something awful, and you'll immediately recognize it as a thought that will echo around in your head for the rest of your life. So much of life is muddled, only understandable through retrospect, but every once in a while, you end up in a moment so traumatic that it's clear from the instant it happens that it will keep you up at night. Her mom insists it could be higher if she works hard to get better. That's her statistical success rate in rehab. When we do hear them, it's clear their conversation is a grim one. Their discussions are bisected by shots of the car's exterior, their words silenced by the barrier of the windshield. In the car, we see the conversation the Bennett family has from both inside and out. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |