Yes, it’s the fluffy Miramax version of the very real battle I and so many other Recovering Catholics struggle through — what all us bourgeois encounter and react viscerally to in Rimbaud — Stifling, Trifling, Mock Morality vs Exuberance, Passion, a more thorough exploration of the intricacies of what is right and wrong. Color versus darkness, flavor vs blandness, freedom vs regime, the world vs the village. Before I had words or a map to navigate my feelings, I knew I didn’t belong in my provincial suburbs. It took a trek to the deep hippie woods to figure out exactly how to get back to the city and truly explore the depths of myself. I’m still finding things, I’m still getting illuminated to elevating revelations. It’s a struggle, all those years of oppression. Shaking off the layers of them, getting through the superficial ones, going beyond what the surface of things developed. Finding and delving into terrifying fiery pits previously unknown. I’d rather this, though, than everything Alfred Molina’s character struggles with.