Bests & Worsts Reviews from Amazon

All the right words have probably been used: stunning, mesmerizing, tantalizing. All these and the prepared for "love that dared not speak its name" set in the 50s are what we expect as we sit in the theatre. However, the words I came away with were not so headlight blinding on a dark night; rather, the stillness caught me. And when the stillness ended only the perfectly necessary, perfectly nuanced, movement captured my eye and held me spellbound into the next stillness. And the Silences. When did we forget how a silence can speak a thousand thoughts and ideas and notions? When did we lose ourselves in this cacophony of voices, unceasing, these incoherent noises? And how can this newly found silence find us yearning, not for words, no; instead, we beg, leaning forward in our seats, holding our breath, waiting or wishing or dying for another glance or equally as satisfying (but now almost universally neglected) another gentle, almost intangible - except from the disturbance of air around it - brush of a hand on a shoulder, and then gasping for air as it finally arrives? When did we lose the ability to interpret in a glance (and maybe a barely distinguishable lift of the corner of a mouth with the exact right shade of lipstick) across the department store floor an existence of unrelenting and profound loneliness, of desolation, of hopelessness? When did we lose the ability to say yes to life, and risk, and hoping the feeling in your gut is telling you this isn't the worst idea ever? Whenever we lost all these gifts: when we lost silence as an amplifier; when we lost the ability to translate a touch that speaks what we can't say aloud into "I love you" and "I need you" and "I will be desolate without you;" when we lost the ability to say with our eyes alone, "you are the piece of me I didn't know was missing;" when the choices were not an easily managed yes or no, but instead asked us the existence shattering, "shall I give up my soul ... or my soul?" I don't know when we lost all these gifts of communication, but I found them all here, watching a film in a small theatre in Santa Fe, New Mexico; and I was heartbroken and uplifted; terrified by the honesty and horrified by the cruelty in this world I was invited into; and yet, I am still loathe to go to another place, another time, where Carol and Terese are not speaking this language, where I am not the voyeur - the audience reeling with the profound reminders of how little we need speech, if only we commit to using every other sense to communicate.