Four friends hoist their blanket up like a canopy and assist it as it lowers and lays flat on the grass. They assemble their Milk Duds and their Sprites as the screen before them goes bright. The beam of the projector highlights a portion of the other people gathered. Once voices begin to blare from speakers, the hum of the cars on the highway seems to fade and every insect in the nearby woods goes silent.
The film plays out as the plot twists and turns. The four find themselves constantly laughing. It’s the kind of ridiculous humor that really shouldn’t be funny, but either way they can’t help but smile. Sometimes the comicality is tinged with a little bit of truth, it’s a subtle way of showing depth.
Tears stream from the friends’ faces, almost reflections of the people casted upon the large white canvas. Maybe it’s sympathy, even though crying over a random flick is pointless. Maybe it isn’t about the movie, but the way they feel about themselves. Their perception changed from the films influence and now they see their own lives clearer. Somehow it seems that this feature really does understand, when they thought nobody could.
  As the credits roll upon the screen, thanking those who made this all so immaculate and fun, the four tidy up their things. It’s all small talk and generic comments, although they know the film meant much more. All huddled into the mediocre blue Ford, they depart, unknowingly sharing a beautiful ache in their hearts. No matter where they go from here, the movie will always be an assured trademark of compassion. As if it was a loyal friend. As if somehow, it was one of them.