Daisy Edevane

A heart that lives inside a film reel.

Talk to me about films and you’ll find me happily lost for hours. Conversation is one of my favourite places to be, and I’ll usually answer quickly though some days swallow me whole and I take my time returning. I listen more than I speak; there’s something sacred about being trusted with someone else’s thoughts.

My taste in films is wide and a little sentimental. I return often to the bright thrill of Top Gun: Maverick and John Wick: Chapter 4, and to the kind of films that feel like memory itself e.g. Jaws (1975), Titanic, Suzume, The Notebook, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Wicked, Project Hail Mary, and Billie Eilish: Hit Me Hard and Soft — The Tour Live in 3D, which felt less like a concert film and more like sitting inside a feeling. The independents carry a quieter magic for me; A Man Called Otto, Flow, Past Lives, Sore: Istri dari Masa Depan, We Live in Time, The Drama, Noktah Merah Perkawinan; small worlds, big tendernesses. And when I want the sky to open and the soundtrack to swell, I lean into Harry Potter, The Batman, No Time to Die (007), Jurassic Park, Fast and Furious, and the gorgeous, breathless chaos of Mission: Impossible.

On the smaller screen.

My television heart wanders just as freely. I sink into slow, devastating dramas such as The Queen’s Gambit, Scenes from a Marriage, Severance, Five Days at Memorial, Chernobyl and let coming-of-age stories like Normal People break me a little, in the way only first loves can. There’s a softness in me that still belongs to the strange and dreamlike: Wednesday, The Umbrella Academy, Spinning Out.

I have a quiet weakness for crime and mystery, too like Criminal: UK & Germany, High Potential, Hijack and a long-held fondness for The Good Doctor. International stories find their way to me as well, Detective Conan and the aching, golden beauty of Youth of May. And then there’s Studio Ghibli masterpieces; Spirited Away, My Neighbour Totoro, Kiki’s Delivery Service, Howl’s Moving Castle which never feel like films to me, only like home.

The sound of my days.

My playlists drift between alt-pop, pop with a soft rock pulse, and the slow ache of R&B with precious artists; Billie Eilish, DPR IAN, Måneskin, Celine Dion, Westlife, LAUV, Lewis Capaldi, GFRIEND, and Charles Leclerc’s piano weaving quietly through the in-between. Music is how I move through hours; it’s how I remember them too.

The Sunday roar.

There’s something almost sacred about Sundays in red. I love Formula 1 the way some people love poetry.. the rhythm, the rituals, the heartbreak. Scuderia Ferrari has my whole heart, and Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel, Carlos Sainz, Max Verstappen, and Oscar Piastri each carry a small corner of my devotion.

The quiet of it all.

There’s a particular tenderness to living alone; the small jokes only the walls hear, the slow rituals of light and tea and music, the soft, private humour of ordinary days. I cry easily, at songs and old films and at unexpected kindness from strangers. But the same softness that breaks me is the one that lets me sit beside someone in their own weather, and stay, until the sky clears.

So, if you’ve read this far, hello. Come gently, stay a while. I’d love to know what your favourite film is, and what it means to you.

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