Into The Wild...Into The Film

I just got in from seeing Into The Wild by myself in a theatre with 3 other people. It moved me in a way no film has before. It struck right to my core on so many levels so that I feel any explanation I try to offer here won't do it justice. Ironically the theme from my last post was evident throughout and I feel like a douche for virtually copying a subject Sean Penn has so totally nailed. Maybe its my age, or the period of life which I'm currently in. Maybe its my ignorant second-year college attitude of wonder and possibility, of quasi-intellectualism, of unbridled nostalgia that arises from laying awake at night reading Kerouac or Sallinger before turning out the light and resting for another day of effortless curriculum. Maybe its a life of caution and boredom that prevents me from taking any real risks or unplanned adventures. Not to say that I haven't taken risks and adventures, especially in the past year, but I'll be the first to acknowledge the thought and planning that went into them. Maybe its my fear of routine. Or maybe its the soundtrack and score done by the frontman of one of my top 5 favorite bands of all time. Maybe its seeing where my parents have succeeded, and where they have failed. Maybe its having lived a life of privlege that allows me to think and feel and dream about such things in uninhibited ways. Whatever it is...something between my brain and the film I just watched spawned an unmistakeable union that, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, made me a part of the film.

I'm gonna go to bed.