The Film Club by David Gilmour
I read an advance reader’s copy of this book after hearing it lauded at the Winter Institute in Kentucky last week. There were quotes! Quotes from famous authors, like Richard Russo! Quotes that said things like, “I loved David Gilmour’s sleek, potent little memoir, The Film Club. It’s so, so wise in the ways of fathers and sons, of movies and movie-goers, of love and loss.”
You can’t just not pick up a (free) book when such things are said by such people. It’s impossible! Or at least it is unwise. So I picked it up, couldn’t put it down, and a few hours later crawled out the book’s warm, yet turbulent, embrace. When the author’s 16 year old son is struggling in school and every resource has been drained, it’s decided that he can drop out. The only requirement is that he watch movies with his dad. They range from high brow to , well, Basic Instinct. But it’s not always about the movies or even what those stories can teach us about life. But it’s more about what you learn from that time with a parent that you otherwise (most likely) wouldn’t have. David Gilmour isn’t the perfect father. He isn’t even a father you wished you had (at least not for me) but his Film Club is the perfect idea — and one I wish I had participated in.
And, now, I have to go watch True Romance because evidently it’s the *perfect* movie. Or something like that.
