When I was younger, I devoured comedies, even Saturday Night Live, which my dad always taped (like, on tapes), labeled and let me watch over breakfast on Sunday morning.

I remember watching a black and white short by Tom Schiller done as a tribute to Fellini’s La Dolce Vida. At the time, I didn’t entirely understand it, but by the end, when Gilda said dreams were like paper and walked away, I always cried.

Gilda was a master at consuming characters. Making me simultaneously laugh and boil over with envy.

But sometimes she wasn’t funny at all, but rather brilliantly complicated and beautiful.

It’s weird, I still cry at the end.

 

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