Lost Weekends

I think it was last Friday, Jen and I sat in the cafeteria, eating lunch. Jen looked out of the wall to wall windows, and said, “This weather makes me more sentimental.” It was drizzling or about to drizzle. She continued, “I found myself cry more watching movies now than in the summer.” I looked up, at her and at the gloom outside, “Are you sure it is you? Maybe it is the movie. I, for one, can’t think of one sentimental movie came out during summer seasons.” She gave me a shocked expression, then laughed.

And today I saw this article from this weekend’s New York Times:Lost Weekends, By VERLYN KLINKENBORG. Hilarious!

For as it happens, the only meaningful season in Hollywood — the only cinematic one, that is — is the so-called Christmas season, a 12-week stretch beginning in October when the studios put forward what they consider to be their most important films. It almost feels like a natural phenomenon, the clustering of serious movies at the end of the year — like the migration of geese or the beaching of whales.