(Given that I'm writing this post at a sad point in my year, I feel like I should clarify that this is just a thought I've been chewing on independent of anything else. Also, hi Blogspot, how are you?)
And that scene, that song, kill me every time. If I watch it alone, I bawl. If I watch it with someone, my face twists up so I don't bawl.
And the thing is, I never, ever, hear that song as being about relationships. That's never what pictures it stirs up for me. It's totally about choices and agency. About the job. About chasing after something that you know is going to end badly, but disregarding because there's something beautiful and thrilling right here right now. In the context of that movie, it's about this guy, the fat assassin (I feel really bad that I don't remember his name, but I'm not taking the simple step to Google it, either, because I'm writing about what's in my head right now), who has spent his whole life being really good at this job that is, right now, killing him.
And yet, of course that's how it would end for him. Because he's a killer. We've spent this whole movie loving this character, but he's a killer. And he's dying like a killer. And that's exactly--fucking exactly--what he saw coming down the road, if not when he started the job (we don't know), then certainly later on. And what we, as the audience, should have seen. And it's a reminder, right before the final chase starts, that we would be naive to expect or feel entitled to a happy ending for Colin Farrell's character, who made the choice to chase after the same bitch of a job.
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