Being a cinema lover can feel like a case of unrequited love. My pulse quickens every time I settle into my seat and the darkness washes over the theater. It is very possible that the next two hours could be the most transformative of my life. I could find my new favorite film; my new reason to corner strangers at parties at talk at them about their unfair statement that “there are no more good movies.” I could laugh. I could cry. I could become energized and want to go out and show the world what I am made of. Unfortunately, more often than not, this is not the case. I leave the theater saying, “Well I guess it was a pretty good movie,” to be polite. Or I leave in a rage for wasting those two hours of my day. I find myself thinking that I love the movies more than they love me. On a rare occasion, however, I have all of my love for cinema reflected back at me. I leave the theater not only feeling as pumped up as ever, but I am also witness to a film created by a filmmaker who loves movies as much as I do.