Mademoiselle Noir

Note: This is a review, but also not because I really can't seem to put into words the qualities that made this drama so great when I have praised it at length week after week. I could try, but it would almost feel insincere to go on about the cinematography, soundtrack, dialogue, set design, and quality of acting when it is the overall feeling of this drama that sticks with me the most. And so all I can and really want to do is try to describe that feeling to you.

I can hardly recall the last time I stayed to watch the credits roll for a film.

When even with the now harsh lights of the theatre pulling me out of the trance I was stuck in and beckoning me toward the door—the real, outside world—like a spotlight—I waited with bated breath, hands clasped together in almost a prayer, as the names of those who created the work I was so enchanted by passed by, my eyes full of tears yet shining, smiling, heart pounding, my feet firmly planted to the floor, wondering when—if ever—I will feel so enraptured, so touched. Hoping for something, anything, at the end, yet expecting and gladly accepting nothing should it be so.

I stayed for this drama.

Deep In is unlike anything I will likely ever see. And that is a wonder yet also heartbreaking.

To be so pulled into the fiction, the fiction within the fiction, that I become as caught up as the actors did in their characters and the characters with their actors.

I only wish I had really seen it on the big screen. If only so I might turn to my right and maybe, just maybe, see someone else in the same state as me.