Experiencing CALL ME BY YOUR NAME with pain.
CALL ME BY YOUR NAME in a way, has awakened the death of a youthful romance — mine — despite of never really in one before.
What I will write here is not a review, but rather an autoethnographic experience of how this film has impacted the bittersweet yet tasteful flavor of being in total adoration over someone. Finishing the film, my mind has suddenly taken a toll and transported to 2005 where it blossomed, my newfound desire. Not for someone, yet the dream of someone, really.
Summer has always been the affirmative theme of sexual evocation, yet usually the painting of how it goes never really depicts the sadness of the end. They would stop at the happy endings and that’s it. Which is cool and I approve that, but sometimes you need to face the reality of a summer romance — is that they will end, eventually. This picture has achieved in encompassing the emotional pinnacle of romance discontinuation.
We see Elio loud and clear, with all of his adolescent instincts — curiosity of finding who he really is, the inquisition of does-he-or-doesn’t-he, hankering to his intellectually humble family. Then there’s Oliver; sturdy, carries himself with pride, often uncivil towards people. Your usual first love in any romantic comedy. Little did we know, this is not that kind of film. They both dance with cautious coquets, teasing each other with physicality, intelligence, though they all look as swiftly as they are unhurriedly.
—
“Cause I wanted you to know,” is an admission of vibrant desire that Elio kept saying over and over. I felt it tingling through my spine. That intense, relentless yearning is infectious to our own version of nostalgia. He was after all, the figure that we wanted to be, especially me. My days of growing up — embracing this raw, callowest passion is the most taboo thing to do. Witnessing Elio was really the testament of what we could’ve been, despite the following events that may or may not influenced our stance on love itself.
He moves so seamlessly, Elio. Without a care in the world nor fear of getting caught. His mind is dominated so strongly by the enigmatic Oliver. Does he like me? Does he know that I like him? Does he know all of the things that I’ve done for him? We keep guessing for reciprocation to appear and blush all over both of them. We grieve for anything that causes Elio pain or emptiness and celebrate the way he laid down his notebook on his bed with the scribble — I didn’t think he like me (or whatever?) — it’s all so delicious to me. His desire is so tantalizing to him and us all, whom have been watching his actions.
In retrospect, personally I have never been in that kind of experience of loving someone so deeply in a young age. Though the intensity and also, the pain — it felt like nostalgic. Sentimental reaction would’ve been proper in watching this movie but what comes after it, the father’s monologue, hits home to me. That’s what I want to have, that’s what I want my parents to understand; that whatever it is that your child is going through, you just want them to love themselves, to inflict the unexpected love and affection that parents should’ve had in the first place. Tell them it’s gonna be okay or it’s not the end of the world for them should suffice to prove that family, no matter what, would always have your back and scuffle your hair in an affectionate manner.
The ending is gut-wrenching. Gut-wrenching is the right word for it, yet not so much. It felt more like being smothered by the fluffiest pillow filled with summer memories where the sunshine laid down on your face and everything suddenly feels fine. But when that goes away, it goes away painfully tender. However, the ending can be seen as brutal, in a sense that it won’t allow you to let go, to have closure. It haunts you yet whatever it looks like, it looks like you are wanting to go over it all over again.
