we're not supposed to be friends...did you know that?

I don't usually write (good) movie reviews...but seeing as a friend of mine who normally only reviews things recently wrote about something personal, I figure I might as well stop talking about myself for once, especially since this one touched me particularly hard (more of a jab than a touch you could say)

I don't usually cry at movies. Unless I am sick (Hotel Rwanda) or having a hormone-induced mood inconsistency, I just don't cry. Even if I want to. I've got Cameron Diaz in The Holiday syndrome.

But, I am back in my room after watching The Boy in the Striped Pajamas and my pillow is significantly soggy (granted I waited until after the movie was well over to begin my bawling).

World War II movies are made all the time and I am not sure if this one is necessarily the best of the best. It is, in my mind, a great example of what a movie should be:

Beautifully made. Sometimes I just want to kiss cinematographers on the face, they are so freaking talented and don't get enough credit. It was a 94 minute film and every image said something powerful.

The music nearly made my heart leap out of my chest, especially at the end. So powerful.

The acting was emotional in a believable way.
The little boy was cute. He was the perfect balance of naive and perceptive that eight year-olds always manage to be.

There was a theme that didn't hit you over the head, but was obviously key to the filmmakers decision to tell the story.
The story itself was simple. Because it didn't have to be complicated.

I don't know if I would tell you to go see it though. Unless you want your heart broken and your eyes moistened.

But that is good for a person every now and then.