i remember reading the virgin suicides when i was in high school, selecting the book because of the titilating title. i remember being blown away by the incredible story, rereading it, adoring celia for her fearlessness, lux for her sexiness, and knowing they escaped the lifes they loathed. i escaped the life i loathed by living; they did it by dying.
fast-forward to my junior year of college, to my internship at zoetrope: all-story. the short story publication associated with francis ford coppola (he was the founding editor) had photos of the coppola wine and various movies, including the virgin suicides. there was a lot of hype about the movie, but i never saw it, for whatever reason i know not now.
now tonight, in 2006, before heading out, i had two hours, so i watched it. in between applying a thick lucious layer of eyeliner, trying on various skirts and tops (and unsure of the one i am currently wearing), i watched it. and was blown away with the beauty of the script, of how it was fairly true to the book. and i love sofia coppola's films again.
we all yearn for something more. we do this in different ways: by looking back over our shoulder at our regrets and wishing we could change the past; by consistently obsessing over the future, hoping and wishing. we need to live in the present and try to put forth our yearning into reality.