Hayley Atwood

Favorite Performance: Brideshead Revisited

Christine Baranski

Favorite Performance: The Good Fight

Frances Conroy

Favorite Performance: American Horror Story

Ann Dowd

Favorite Performance: The Leftovers

Kathryn Hahn

Favorite Performance: Private Life

Regina Hall

Favorite Performance: Support The Girls

Scarlett Johansson

Favorite Performance: HER

Anna Kendrick

Favorite Performance: CAMP

Regina King

Favorite Performance: If Beale Street Could Talk

Diane Kruger

Favorite Performance: In The Fade

Jennifer Lopez

Favorite Performance: The Wedding Planner

Jane Lynch

Favorite Performance: GLEE

Julianna Margulies

Favorite Performance: The Good Wife

Tatum O’Neal

Favorite Performance: Paper Moon

Lucy Punch

Favorite Performance: Being Julia

Miranda Richardson

Favorite Performance: The Crying Game

Maureen Stapleton

Favorite Performance: Interiors

Tracey Ullman

Favorite Performance: Tracey Ullman’s Show

Naomi Watts

Favorite Performance: The Impossible

Merritt Wever

Favorite Performance: Nurse Jackie



“Un beau soleil intérieur”: On Claire Denis, Sylvia Plath and letting the sunshine in



2018 has, to my mind, been a very good year for film. So many gifted filmmakers have produced excellent work which has challenged, excited, moved and inspired me, none more so than French master  Claire Denis, whose existential space epic High Life was the strangest, most intricate and innovative film I saw at this year’s New York Film Festival. But in fact it was another of Denis’s film, Un beau soleil intérieur, a rambling romantic dramedy which premiered at Cannes in 2017, which has had a more lasting and profound influence on me than just about anything else I’ve seen this year. The film, whose English title is Let The Sunshine In, follows Isabelle, a messy, divorced 40-something artist (a luminous Juliette Binoche) as she navigates love, sex, and attraction with three very different men, each of whom comes into her life with his own set of baggage and neuroses.

I saw the film at the IFC theater in April. Leaving the theater, I quite liked, but didn’t love it, and ultimately awarded it a solid three and a half stars in the film review column I write and publish exclusively in my own head. But in the time that has passed since then, I have been unable to stop thinking about it, specifically the final scene, which upon reflection is maybe my favorite film ending of the year. In it, Isabelle visits a fortune-teller of sorts (Gérard Depardieu), desperately hoping he can provide some clarity with respect to her woefully convoluted love life. While she has found joy and fulfillment, to various degrees, in other aspects of her life, she confesses to the fortune teller, “it is my emotional relationships that keep obsessing me.” Which of the three men she has been seeing, she wants to know, is the right one. Who should she choose, and why. Which one makes the most sense. Which one is her destiny.

The fortune-teller’s answer, to Isabelle’s initial frustration and disappointment, is that none of the three are “the one.” In response to a number of specific questions about each of the men, he offers some general insights and predictions, but nothing very definitive. What he provides instead, by way of advice, is something far more vague, and yet, somehow, exactly what Isabelle needs to hear.

It went something like this:

“Do not allow yourself to become obsessed by any of these men, or any others. Do not become trapped by your own ideas or expectations about intimacy or romance or commitment. You will have much love in your life. Each of these three will remain in your life in some capacity, some more importantly than others, and a number of others will arrive at your doorstep. Some will want only to use you. Do not allow yourself to be used. But as for the others, let them in. Keep yourself “open” to the possibilities they will bring. Love, like lovers, is not constant. It shifts and ebbs and changes like the tide. It takes many forms. You cannot control it. You cannot predict it. You cannot make it something it is not. So don’t worry. Focus instead on yourself. Take care of what is essential in you. That is the most important thing. I live my life, and I take responsibility only for that. Otherwise, I let things happen. I don’t take care of the rest. I try instead to find a beautiful sun within. That’s what I ask of you.”

It takes a while for Isabelle to fully absorb and appreciate this concept, but she gets there eventually. By the time the credits wrap, she is smiling, almost glowing, as if, already, she has begun to let go, to open herself to the possibilities that surround her and to feel the warmth of that sun within.

It’s a gorgeous epilogue, written and acted with a kind of whimsical gravitas I was not expecting based on the plot or tone of the film that preceded it, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I can’t get it out of my mind. In a way the scene feels more theatrical than cinematic. It’s a kind of storytelling—the kind that is both subtle yet completely on the nose about the weighty things it is trying to say, and that is able to communicate them effectively without coming across as cloying or heavy-handed or inauthentic—that just doesn’t work often in films. But Denis nails it. The fact that I was able to connect to the scene in such a personal way that it is still on my mind many months later is surely a testament to that.


They say the human body replaces itself every seven years. That our cells die and regrow at such a rate that after seven years, we are made of completely new cells. I don’t know if that’s true or not, scientifically, but I like the idea. Every seven years, you’re a new person. I’ll be turning 28 in about six months, which means, if the theory is correct, my current seven-year cycle is nearly over. In six months I will be a new person, a concept that thrills and terrifies me in equal measure. Thrills because I love a new beginning, and am just about always ready for one, and am certainly ready for one now. But terrified because it means another cycle in my life is over, and what have I accomplished? And how many more will I have? How many chances have I passed up, how many opportunities have I squandered, how much time—time I will never get back—have I wasted?

Perhaps it goes without saying at this point that I am more prone to existential dread than the average person, but there it is. It’s a horrible affliction, really, one I don’t wish on anyone I like, because while it may render those of us who suffer from it more passionate, ambitious and self-aware than those who don’t, it can destroy us quite easily if we let it. It can consume us from the inside, like it did our patron saint, Sylvia Plath. Like Sylvia, I am frequently overcome with sorrow and anguish at the realization that I can never be all of the people I want and live all the lives I want. I too want desperately to “live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life.” And yet, I too find that I am “horribly limited.” I too feel constantly as if I am standing beneath that great green fig tree, fearing that I shall starve to death because I cannot make up my mind which figs to choose before they all begin wrinkling and going black and plopping to the ground at my feet. Because the reality is that I want them all. I want each and every one and I don’t want to choose. I don’t want to settle. I don’t want to give anything up. And I am haunted by the knowledge that, of course, in some ways, I must.

When you feel that way, as I do, very strongly, when you live in a constant state not just of hunger, but of desperate fear of starvation, it can be very difficult to feel hopeful or grateful or excited by the prospect of a blank page and a new beginning. Because beginnings inevitably mean endings. And endings inevitably mean failure to achieve all you’ve desired. It’s a truly vicious cycle, as anyone who has ever been trapped in it can attest, and if you allow yourself to think too much about it, choosing to put your head in the oven isn’t the least understandable thing a person could do.


All that being said, I have no intention of putting my head in the oven, and doubt very much that I ever will. I’m far too vain and afraid of death, and, despite everything, still far too hopeful that I can attain at least a substantial portion of what I want in life.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I walk through life, like Isabelle, in a near perpetual state of anxiety, obsessed not only by my personal relationships, or, as the case may be (and often is), by the lack thereof, but also by my career prospects, my financial situation, my physical appearance and, at any given moment, about a hundred other things. I too want someone to give me the answers. Real, concrete answers about what I need to do to achieve my goals and meet my needs and fulfill my desires in love and life.

But of course, there are no answers. To go looking and expect to find them would be a fruitless effort, because they do not exist. So the best we can do, the only thing we can do, really, to quell our anxiety and satiate the screaming, aching hunger within is to keep ourselves “open.” To take care of what is essential in us and hope the things we want that are beyond our control will come. To find un beau soleil intérieur and allow it to radiate outwards. That’s the only chance we have, and better to realize it before it’s too late. That, to me, is what Denis and her co-writer Christine Agnot are saying with this film. And it’s something we all of us need reminding of, because boy are they right, just as the ever-wise Anaïs Nin was right when she articulated the same timeless concept many years ago (“Don’t wait for it, I said. Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. And then love will come to you, then it comes to you.”).


With this in mind, over the next six months, as I prepare to say goodbye to one cycle of my life and begin another, I commit myself to the goal of staying “open.” To planting the seeds of the things I want most, and hoping the sun will shine and help them grow, and knowing that, if it doesn’t, the soleil intérieur will suffice. After all, in 27 years I have come a long way from where I started. I have created a life for myself I didn’t always think was possible. I live in a beautiful apartment in the greatest city the world. I travel. I go to the theatre, and the ballet, and museums. I read lots of books and see lots of plays and, God knows, watch lots of movies. I own many wonderful things. I am healthy. Some Friday nights I take the redeye to Paris, and spend the weekend eating croissants and gelato and wandering the Left Bank with my best friend. Some Sunday mornings I wake up in my bed in the arms of someone who isn’t right for me, but who brings me flowers and kisses my hands and would love me if I let him. There is love in my life, and comfort, and fulfillment, all at 27. I know it’s more than many people get in a lifetime, but I am fiercely selfish and desperately greedy and I want to so, so much more than that. But I also want very much to find a place within myself where I am capable of accepting, truly accepting, that if this is all there is for me, if it’s all there will ever be, it is enough. It has been enough. It will be enough.

Sylvia understood, maybe better than anyone,  the importance of choosing joy in the face of such circumstances as hers, and as mine. “I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.” I would like to think, as I grow older, I will become more capable to making the right choice in this regard, with less temptation toward the wrong one than I feel now.  But, realistically, I expect that despite my best efforts I will, on some level at least, always continue ricocheting between the two. Maybe that will drive me mad. But then, as another literary figure I worship would say, I suppose all the best people are.


Un beau soleil intérieur” is not one of my favorite films of the year. It won’t make my top 10 list, and almost certainly wouldn’t even crack the top 20 (though Juliette likely will merit a spot on my favorite film performances list). And I’m glad for that. I’m glad the cinematic landscape today is so broad and rich and healthy that even in films that don’t entirely work for me, there is so much warmth and wisdom and artistry to draw from and be inspired by. It reminds me how much power and meaning and emotion film as a medium is capable of imparting, and makes me appreciate even more just how grateful I am to love movies, and to be loved by those who make them. Because really, the best films are nothing if not love letters to those who watch them. That’s what this film was for me, un gros bisous de Claire Denis. A kiss that has lingered on my cheek, that I can reach up and touch whenever I need to, like Pepper in my favorite episode of American Horror Story.


And for that I say thank you, Ms. Denis, Alanis-style. Thank you for the empathy and the inspiration and the insight. As I continue on this path I have started down, which I hope very much will lead to a long and fruitful career in this industry, I will endeavor to someday return the favor, and to pass that love on–to place a lasting kiss on someone’s cheek like you have placed on mine.




Thora Birch

Favorite Performance: Now And Then

Anna Chlumsky

Favorite Performance: My Girl

Jodie Comer

Favorite Performance: Killing Eve

Kat Dennings

Favorite Performance: Nick & Nora’s Infinite Playlist

Tina Fey

Favorite Performance: 30 Rock

Julia Garner

Favorite Performance: Ozark

Greta Gerwig


Favorite Performance: Mistress America

Salma Hayek

Favorite Performance: Beatriz At Dinner

Rinko Kikuchi

Favorite Performance: Babel

Sarah Lancashire

Favorite Performance: Happy Valley

Diane Lane

Favorite Performance: Unfaithful

Lindsay Lohan

Favorite Performance: The Parent Trap

Rachel McAdams

Favorite Performance: The Family Stone

Kathy Najimy

Favorite Performance: Sister Act

Sandra Oh

Favorite Performance: Under The Tuscan Sun

Gwyneth Paltrow

Favorite Performance: Shakespeare In Love

Joan Plowright

Favorite Performance: Tea With Mussolini

Amy Poehler

Favorite Performance: Parks And Recreation

Christina Ricci

Favorite Performance: Gold Diggers

Mara Wilson

Favorite Performance: Matilda




Ellen Burstyn

Favorite Performance: The Last Picture Show

Penélope Cruz

Favorite Performance: To Rome With Love

Cameron Diaz

Favorite Performance: The Holiday

Pam Grier

Favorite Performance: Jackie Brown

Lena Headey

Favorite Performance: Game Of Thrones

Hayley Mills

Favorite Performance: The Parent Trap

Cathy Moriarty

Favorite Performance: Soapdish

Maureen O’Hara

Favorite Performance: The Quiet Man

Busy Philipps

Favorite Performance: White Chicks

Lily Rabe

Favorite Performance: Miss Stevens

Eva Saint Marie

Favorite Performance: North By Northwest

Mary Steenburgen

Favorite Performance: Back To The Future III

Hailee Steinfeld

Favorite Performance: True Grit

Julia Stiles

Favorite Performance: 10 Things I Hate About You

Barbra Streisand

Favorite Performance: Funny Girl

Kristen Stewart

Favorite Performance: Clouds Of Sils Maria

Charlize Theron

Favorite Performance: North Country

Jessica Walter

Favorite Performance: Arrested Development

Penelope Wilton

Favorite Performance: Downton Abbey

Alfre Woodard

Favorite Performance: Cross Creek




Rose Byrne

Favorite Performance: Spy


Favorite Performance: Silkwood

Claire Danes

Favorite Performance: Stage Beauty

Ruth Gordon

Favorite Performance: Rosemary’s Baby

Holliday Grainger

Favorite Performance: The Borgias

Deborah Kerr

Favorite Performance: Black Narcissus

Elsa Lanchester

Favorite Performance: Witness For The Prosecution

Queen Latifah

Favorite Performance: Chicago

Kelly MacDonald

Favorite Performance: Puzzle

Margo Martindale

Favorite Performance: Justified

Elizabeth McGovern

Favorite Performance: Ragtime

Cynthia Nixon

Favorite Performance: The Little Foxes

Martha Plimpton

Favorite Performance: The Good Wife

Imogen Poots

Favorite Performance: Christopher And His Kind

Bel Powley

Favorite Performance: The Diary Of A Teenage Girl

Charlotte Rampling

Favorite Performance: 45 Years

Vanessa Redgrave

Favorite Performance: Julia

Cecily Tyson

Favorite Performance: Sounder

Robin Wright

Favorite Performance: House Of Cards

Renée Zellweger

Favorite Performance: Cold Mountain