Slumdog Millionaire opens me up with a close-up, a portrait, of a sweaty, black-eyed, big-eared, rattled boy who is just my type. Some fat authority-figure fuck hits him. I want to kill anyone who would hurt such a boy. Story of my life.
Anyway that’s how this movie grabbed my attention. Other things, like the elegance and clever pretension of how the answers to the gameshow questions arose from his desperate life, kept me watching.
Imagine someone loving your scars. Imagine.
I would feel like dancing in the streets, too.
That’s me, you know. I’m right there, too.