After finishing the film, I was weirdly preoccupied by this thought: Why was it called 'Waves'?

In that moment, as I lay flat on my back, with only a flattened cardboard box shielding me from the cemented floor, I found myself overthinking. I knew that the harder I tried to make sense of it, the more crumpled my face became. Gripping my phone, my mind wandered elsewhere, yet I tried to snap myself back to my consciousness. Despite the trance, I was still attuned with Colors and Sounds lulling during the film's credit scene. When the screen flickered to pitch blackness and all sounds faded away, I returned to my initial wonderment:

So, why was called 'Waves'?

“Waves,” among other A24 films I know, is by far the most emotional and heartrending movie I have watched. With a runtime of over two hours, I initially thought it would only outline the redemption arc of high school senior, Tyler Williams, as he and his family dealt with loss, forgiveness, and love. However, as soon as his story concluded behind bars, another story began. I distinctly remember tapping my screen to check the time when the perspective shifted to his sister, Emily Williams. It was around 1:02:00, almost exactly halfway through the film.

While the first half felt like an adrenaline rush, with nail-biting jitters conveyed through camera works and suspenseful music, the second half left me feeling quenched—as if I had just taken a refreshing gulp of ice-cold water after being out in the scorching afternoon.

Emily Williams, after the imprisonment of her brother, carried on with her life without a choice. The aftermath of what happened to their family drained the remaining hope she had and consequently left her feeling castaway. In the sea of people, where it felt suffocating for her, a boy from the same university swam toward her and randomly offered her a blueberry lollipop. Their story soon deepened as they navigated their way together toward healing and acceptance.

From Wind-Blown Ripples...

Now that I reflect on it, this film didn’t rely on familiar associations to emphasize the symbolic significance of the title. We were reintroduced to different elements and their literal and interpretative uses in both cinematic and literary experiences. The beauty of changing seasons, the birth of a new dawn, the ominous darkness, the hopeful connection of sunrise, the constellations and their grip on our future, and the dramatic rain—all of these have been widely used to define universal life. They also deviate from their common usage to offer a fresh perspective.

In the film, I appreciate how its metaphorical sense hasn’t been explicitly laid out for viewers’ easy understanding. Like an ever-unpredictable wave, the story mimicked its movement and aligned it with the course of human life. The film began with a burst of energy—pumping and gripping. The music strategically wove through the rush of scenes, especially during Tyler’s pursuit of his domineering father’s high expectations.

Personally, as I watched the early parts of the first half, I felt like I was listening to Lorde’s Ribs. The tension kept rolling in and building, spontaneous and continuous, leaving me breathless, as if I were running in circles with my eyes closed. I wasn’t exactly on edge, but I leaned so close in my chair, weirdly focused and perplexed about where this tension would lead. And then it happened. After his father learned about Tyler’s shoulder injury, everything seemed to unravel. Tyler lost himself in the effort to save face. As hopelessness set in, he surrendered to his impulses, seeking solace that night with his pregnant girlfriend. No one, not even Tyler himself, expected that the same night would temporarily ease his pain, only to become a lifelong torment—this time behind bars.

As Tyler’s story closed, another one opened: Emily’s.

Just like the waves, unpredictable and ever-changing, all the built-up tension, vertigo-inducing camera work, agitated music, and frame ratios were compensated by shifting the focus of the story to his sister, Emily. As cheesy as it might sound, she came across like a breath of fresh air.

To Serene Stillness...

The toning down of the story, as the perspective shifted to Emily, put me at a greater ease. Clearly, the aftermath of her brother’s tragic downfall had shattered her hope for herself and her family. Although introverted, her solitude seemed deliberate—a self-imposed isolation from others, and likewise, people avoided her. Then, a chance encounter with a guy altered the trajectory of her university life. While waiting her turn in an audition, the same guy approached her with a sheepish demeanor. Despite the embarrassment and awkward gestures, he invited her out for an afternoon snack. Before bidding her goodbye, he handed her a blueberry lollipop, keeping one for himself.

The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea...

In the latter part of the film, there is this shared moment between Emily and her father. Personally, I felt a mix of emotions toward her father—disgust, empathy, and frustration. Obviously, he was the driving force behind Tyler’s self-destructive path, pushing him relentlessly to earn his approval.

It’s sad to say that some parents display their sacrifices to their children’s faces, making them feel worthless. I understand that parents endure trials and hurdles, sacrificing their dreams and well-being to provide for their children. Yet, I don't comprehend why do they insist on imposing the same struggles on their children? Is it necessary for children to experience firsthand the hardships they endured? After all, it was them who ended that turmoil, so why impose the same burden on their children?

Under immense pressure, Tyler kept his shoulder injury a secret from anyone. Fearing disappointment from his father, he persisted despite the doctor’s advice to stop competing. This led to a tragic outcome and a series of misfortune events.

That fateful night, Emily saw Tyler sneaking into their prom. Despite a sense of foreboding, she couldn't bring herself to move and see his brother's unwelcomed presence. Their parents also had a hint of Tyler’s whereabouts, but like with everyone else, they were too late—they found Alexis bloodied and lifeless.

That moment, while fishing together, Emily and her father grappled with regret. Emily harbored resentment toward her brother, blaming herself for not stopping him. Her father, equally regretful, questioned his role as a father. Both longed for their past lives and wished they could still be a family once again.

I agree with Emily’s father when he told her:

You have so much love to share with the world and so much life yet to live.

My heart crumbled when I heard those words. Parents, like their children, aren’t perfect. They, too, grapple with the weight of their roles. I recall an emotional scene from the hit K-Drama “Reply 1988.” Deok-Sun’s father explained that becoming a parent doesn’t automatically make someone a seasoned dad or mom. Each child is a unique journey, and it’s still their first time navigating parenthood.

As I reflect on Emily’s father’s sentiment, I wonder how it would feel to hear those words directed at me.

Is there someone out there who believes I have love to give to the world and a life left to live?

Approaching my 26th year next month, I’ve been wrestling with loads of emotion. Perhaps my frustrations and anger stem from unexpressed love? Love I’ve kept hidden, bottled...waiting for that moment to share.

Am I a lovable person?

I wonder…

Julia Roberts as Vivian was the pretty woman. No, stop right there. Let’s revisit my first sentence and emphasize the word “the.” Imagine stamping our feet and gritting our teeth just to ensure we emphasize it. After all, we don’t merely acknowledge her beauty; we worship it with utmost admiration.

I’m well aware that Julia Roberts may now be in her golden years. The first and last time I saw her on screen, she wore a blue, flattering blouse, fighting back tears as she stood in Hugh Grant’s bookstore in their romantic-comedy film, “Notting Hill.”

I could almost hear the not-so-distant serenade of their song, “When You Say Nothing At All,” as if it hadn’t been ages since I finished watching the film. Her demeanor—classy and poised—perfectly embodied the calculated allure of a celebrity star. The unlikely encounter she had with Hugh Grant, a charming bookstore owner, created a delightful meet-cute moment. I became obsessed with the film for a week, playing their song nonstop and replaying their scenes in my mind. Watching this classic in today’s age doesn’t feel cringy or remotely “cheesy.” Perhaps that’s the magic of nostalgia—the film remains unforced and fresh against the passage of time. Yes, it’s timeless and classic.

That's why seeing Julia Roberts again, rocking a new character– a groovy one, mind you –was really something else. Those curls, that height – she's the ideal Vivian for the classic film, "Pretty Woman." Left with no choice but to be a hooker, Vivian took her chance when she and Kit spotted a handsome car. She leaned against the window, flaunting her skin, and Edward? Well, he didn’t just let her go; he agreed to pay up.

The head-turns and mouth-opening as she graced the Beverly Wilshire with such casual confidence were enough proof that this woman was the living embodiment of pretty. But let’s talk about Edward—how he hung out with Vivian, amused and at ease. He took her in without any bold, aggressive hints to just get her into bed. Instead, he made her comfortable and uncomfortable with his treatment.

After that night, he convinced her to stay with him for a week. Of course, he still paid her for her attention and companionship. He brought her to formal meetings, allowing Vivian to blend into his prestigious life. He even let her use his card to buy herself “conservative” clothes, dolling her up to put his “friends” at ease. Yet, all the while, he ensured she experienced not just the life of a pretty woman but that of a privileged one.

Throughout the film, I was honestly captivated by Julia Roberts’ beauty. Every time she graced the screen, there was something that lit up. Maybe it’s her radiant smile—yeah, I’d bet on that. It was enough to convince me that I could watch the entire movie without a hint of boredom. Her curls perfectly accentuated her gaunt face, paired with those sparkly eyes, white teeth, and that big, infectious smile. Her fidgeting and subtle mannerisms breathed life into her character, creating a stark contrast from her role in “Notting Hill.” At times, I even felt a twinge of guilt because I momentarily forgot about her romantic counterpart, Edward Lewis. Julia Roberts convincingly stole the show, making me forget there was anyone else on screen. Apologies, Richard Gere.

I’ll tell you, she was so beautiful that I forgot to assess their chemistry—whether it was affecting me or not. She was more than enough.

That’s why I was slightly skeptical about writing a review for this film. I feared I’d end up blubbering about Julia Roberts and worshiping her beauty. And guess what? I’m doing exactly that.

Sure, the film isn’t exactly groundbreaking anymore. But there’s something magical about classic rom-coms. When I watch them, I feel a warm glow inside. There are plenty of movies with similar storylines, chemistry, and tropes, yet they don’t leave the same lasting impression. They’re good, but they don’t linger.

Now, the classics—like “Pretty Woman,” “Notting Hill,” and “10 Things I Hate About You”—they’ve stood the test of time. They’re like vintage wine, aging gracefully. Even after all these years, their beauty and impact remain untarnished. And that’s exactly how I felt while watching this film. Nothing beats the classics.

Julia Roberts, you’ll forever be THE pretty woman.

I didn't get the chance to look up anything about this film that I just recently watched. The old-fashioned poster, adorned with half-body shots of the actors, immediately signaled that it was perhaps an Indian movie. After finishing “Slow,” a Swedish film (I believe), I felt the urge to explore another foreign film—something beyond my usual choices. I went to Reddit and hopped on some old discussions about Asian cinema. Among the recommendations, “The Lunchbox” caught my eye in one of the comment threads. Intrigued, I decided to download it offline, along with other Asian films that piqued my attention based on their title.

First, I tried to watch “Barfi,” another Indian film. Regrettably, even after giving it half an hour to grow on me, I still struggled to connect with it. Similarly, my initial experience with “The Lunchbox” left me also feeling disconnected. However, I knew I needed to give it more time, so I paused the film after about 15 minutes. Exhausted from switching between movies, I decided to call it a day and get some rest. The following day, after finishing work, I had a conversation with a friend. As we were about to say goodbye, I mentioned “The Lunchbox.” His enthusiastic response surprised me—he praised it as the best and highlighted Irrfan Khan’s exceptional acting. Encouraged by his recommendation, I decided to give the film another chance that night. And you know what? I’m glad I did. Without his encouragement, I might have missed out on this gem.

The Lunchbox

Halfway through the movie, I was already confident that I would finish it. When they began exchanging letters, the story became even more interesting. However, in the back of my mind, I wondered: Wasn’t she also cheating on her husband? Although it hadn’t been the case before, however, when she invited him to meet in person, I felt uneasy about her intentions. It seemed there was more to their supposed meeting than just a friendly encounter. Fortunately, he didn’t show up—a decision that was beneficial for both of them.

Regarding the lunchbox mix-up, I also found it questionable as Ila did. Did this happen all those times, or did it start only when the film began? Additionally, why did Ila choose a lunchbox delivery service instead of asking her husband to take it to work? Perhaps there’s a cultural nuance or practical reason behind this choice that I was not fully aware of.

The Letter

In the modern world, where traditional letters have lost their place to instant messages, the exchange of letters between Saajan and Ila felt deeply personal and almost “romantic.” Born into an era where letters were no longer commonplace, I struggle to imagine the anticipation of sending your thoughts to someone, waiting patiently for their response. If such a scenario unfolded today, we’d likely hear collective sighs and desperate pleas to fast-forward time just to receive the eagerly awaited reply.

The act of waiting—the hopeful anticipation, the uncertainty, and the time restraint—becomes an integral part of the experience. Beyond the physical letter itself lies the labor invested in its creation. Letters hold sentimental value, capturing moments and emotions, and carrying the weight of people bound by time and hope.

The film “The Lunchbox” beautifully portrays this sentiment through the unlikely connection between Ila and Saajan. Ila, a housewife seeking to rekindle romance with her husband, had her lovingly prepared lunchbox mistakenly sent to Saajan, a middle-aged widower on the cusp of retirement. Their lives intersect through this misplaced lunchbox.

While romance through exchanging letters is no longer a new trope, “The Lunchbox” manages to infuse it with a unique flavor. As I've always believed, despite having common staple ingredients in a movie, if the production manages to reinvent the familiar flavor into something tasty, they can for sure entice people to buy what they offer. In the film, rather than "love" letters, their correspondence delves into life’s philosophical aspects. They discuss existence, beauty, and the lessons learned along the way. Their casual conversations transcend the boundaries of strangers, reminding each other how to truly live and relive their past experiences.

The Saying

In the film, I had this striking realization about the vertical and horizontal plots associated with burial. Saajan requested a horizontal plot, as he told Ila in his letter, because he had spent his entire life standing in buses and trains. He burst out wryly—did he really have to stand even in death?—that was funny but it surely made sense to me.

Later, Saajan shared a profound insight with Ila, perhaps also reflecting on his own life:

We forget things if we have no one to tell them to.

This resonated with me the most. When my sisters reminisce about the past and ask me about it, I often struggle to access those memories consciously. I wonder if it’s because I didn’t experience those moments or simply because I’ve forgotten them. It’s fascinating that my sisters can recall those childhood snippets, while I remain unsure.

I once read a post on Twitter suggesting that the inability to remember childhood experiences might be linked to certain traumas. Perhaps that’s true for me, maybe I’m just naturally forgetful, or Saajan might be correct that I just don't have no one to tell them to? After Ila finished reading his letter, she walked into the open room and briefly played with her daughter.

In another scene, Ila confided in Saajan about her husband’s alleged affair. In response, Saajan recounted a past experience during his train ride. He noticed an elderly woman and felt something brush against him. Like me, he assumed it was the elderly woman who had accidentally touched him. However, instead of accepting this hasty conclusion, he cast a quick glance downward to check for himself. To his surprise, it was the briefcase of the passenger in front of him, gently bumping into 'his'. I stifled a laugh, just as Ila did. Here, Saajan might have wanted to tell Ila that she could be wrong and should not jump to immediate conclusions.

Saikh also shared several funny moments with Saajan. Initially, I expected him to remain on the periphery throughout the film. However, it turned out to be a good decision that, apart from Ila, Saajan found a friend in Saikh.

One memorable scene was when Saikh followed Saajan home. As they conversed, Saikh casually chopped vegetables during the ride—a comical sight! But there was another moment that stood out. Saikh shared a saying with Saajan, one that had been mentioned a few times in the film:

Sometimes a wrong train can get you to the right station.

According to Saikh, his mother had imparted this wisdom. Saajan nodded, but then he paused and looked at Saikh. “Wait,” he said, “didn’t you mention that you’re an orphan?” Saikh’s witty response had me laughing again. He explained that he preferred to add “my mother says” to make his words more believable. Hahahaha! I really enjoyed that.

The Closing

Although I didn’t fully support the “emerging romance” hinted in the film between Saajan and Ila, my heart crumbled when Ila read his last letter to her. After all the anticipation of finally meeting her in person, Saajan stood before the bathroom mirror, briefly scanning his reflection. He decided to shave his beard, but the look on his face suggested lingering dissatisfaction. In that heartfelt letter, he showered Ila with compliments, describing her as beautiful and still young. Meanwhile, he acknowledged his own impending retirement, the scent of age clinging to him, and the time he was addressed as “Uncle” during a ride to the office. The truth hit him like a slap, and he felt a sudden embarrassment—he believed he didn’t deserve her.

Despite the film’s open ending, I still prefer it that way rather than providing a concrete, fairytale-like conclusion. Saajan and Ila have the choice: they can either meet at the ends or continue living their lives, carrying the secrets that only they know—the secrets that the lunchbox holds. In life, there are those chance encounters on trains, fleeting eye contact, shared seats, one-time smiles, and snippets of conversation before we get off. Not everyone accompanies us throughout our journey; sometimes, we meet people at a single station when we accidentally board the wrong train. And after that ride, as we walk home, we realize it’s not so bad after all.