⸝⸝ ⌗ maddie .ᐟ.ᐟ ⊹

ugetsu murata is exactly who the aesthetes write about. rilke describes an artist as one who posesses emotional intensity from life, solitude, and feeling. he discusses how the difficulty of love itself is an art, one ugetsu has touched upon many times.

a possibly hopeless romantic, ugetsu is junxtaposed by the avoidant attachmenet he carries with him. driven by his deep connection to his art, the violin, the man's raw vulnerability forces him to isolate from others. he hides his intense sensitivity and pain with self destruction and feigned nonchalance, tormented by the very thing he does to live. ugetsu's emotions are passionate to the point where they're suffocating, defined by their severe volatility. this intensity has him jumping from melancholic pensiveness to aggression, notably agitated by overstimulation.

the brunette is certainly not as independent as he claims. despite his avoidance of relationships, he struggles to be on his own. ugetsu puts all his energy towards his passion, allowing music to practically drain him. he has no interest, energy or time to cook or clean, and struggles when he lacks somebody to help him.

ugetsu is a walking contradiction. everything he presents is rooted in it's demise, walking him to his eventual downfall. his awareness and fragility only blur with his self-sabatoge and strength, his strive for independence chained down by attachement. despite his extreme lonliness, ugetsu is quite skilled socially. this charming, alluring side of him is a facade he's heavily relied on, embracing his front. it comes naturally, now, slipping through his lips before his heart has a chance to put in its two cents. masking his profound lonliness and fear has become the default, pushing down his genuine emotions.

ugetsu is almost cruel, in a way, taking sarcasm to an extreme at his front, grasping at straws to be anything but who he truly is. he mocks bad music with the hubris of a prodigy (which he is), and can seem belittling. he's playful, theatrical in a way, exaggerating his speech with quips and hand gestures. it's much easier to live that way, avoiding everything that you truly are.

at heart, he yearns for deep connection. ugetsu contains a gentleness he has yet been able to embrace, believing he is bound to be damaged by commitment. his fear of being a burden or getting hurt drives him to believe he doesn't deserve the love he desires, instead choosing to sit at war with his feelings forever.

despite ugetsu's expressive facial expressions, he goes completely blank when he feels deepest. when hurt, his expression goes vacant, trying to comprehend how a problem has slipped past his walls.

Is it better to speak or to die? Luca Guadagnino’s Call Me By Your Name film adaptation asks this question. Though I constantly rewatch the movie, I doubt I will ever reach a definitive answer. I do know that it has left an indelible mark on both my heart and mind, though. Call Me By Your Name is my favorite film because of its emblematic cinematography, deep symbolism, and nuanced character development. The most valuable films are incredibly captivating; they will linger in your mind after watching, provoking questions or ideas you’d never think of otherwise. I am always left astonished when a movie is able to pack a complicated moral conversation into it, much like this one does.

Call Me By Your Name’s cinematography captures not only the essence of a beautiful, Italian summer in the 80s, but also the dream-like world the main character, Elio Perlman, deems it to be. The film follows the 17-year-old boy “somewhere in Northern Italy” as he goes about his first love and eventual heartbreak with 24-year-old Oliver, an American graduate student who stays with the Perlmans to study archeology. Soft, natural lighting and beautiful, scenic shots capture how Elio viewed his summer with Oliver as dream-like through his love-struck eyes. As Elio’s perspective shifts, so does the cinematography. The final scene, Elio’s last call to Oliver, where the man confirms he has gotten engaged back home, contrasts the rest of the movie heavily. It is set inside with darker colors, shadows and intense lighting that were not prevalent earlier in the film. This symbolizes the loss Elio felt, the dark and coldness he found himself living in once Oliver left and moved on. 

The question “is it better to speak or to die?” comes from The Heptameron by Marguerite de Navarre, a story debating where it is worth it to speak true from the heart or stay silent. In the beginning of the film, Elio suppresses his feelings for Oliver out of fear and embarrassment. One night, his mother reads this story for him, serving as a catalyst for Elio to stop hiding his adoration. The question reflects Elio’s struggle to expose the rawest part of himself in turn for either love or heartbreak. The movie's symbolism also extends beyond dialogue into unspoken moments. Elio is conflicted about his feelings regarding Oliver and seeks refuge in his attic. There, whilst suffering from his insatiable lust for the man, he considers moving on from kingdom animalia to the flora. When Oliver inadvertently walks into the scene, Elio is exposed and vulnerable– almost forced to “speak” before he could decide whether it was better to die. Instead of rejecting him, Oliver offers comfort– symbolizing how being emotionally exposed is painful but meaningful.

The film expertly develops every character’s story, not just Elio and Oliver. When the man leaves Italy to go back home, Elio is emotionally withdrawn and feels empty. In an attempt at comfort, his father gives the most profound speech in the entirety of the movie. He praises Elio for having experienced love fully, confessing that he once chose silence himself. He explains how avoiding vulnerability to protect ourselves removes pieces of our humanity, encouraging his son to embrace heartbreak rather than ignore it. He affirms that taking the risk to experience our feelings to the fullest is better than losing the ability to feel at all, giving Elio perspective and his father depth.

Call Me By Your Name masterfully combines cinematography, symbolism, and character development, making it an exquisite film. Through lighting, metaphors and poignant speeches, the film explores the profound impact of experiencing love and vulnerability.

Despite this exquisitly crafted argument to "speak", I cannot help but feel hesitant to be confident in a choice. The hardest part of the debate isin't to speak or to die, it is to decide. I'd argue most live in the gray area, that possibly strips us of our humanity more than dying does. If you choose to die, you are dying for something at least. Both choices require an immense amount of courage, courage I can only aspire to have. I will always remember the rise and fall of Elio and Oliver, how their wax wings could never withstand the sun. Perhaps, in another life, I will not fear the fall and finally find the grit to soar– even if my wings will melt.