When Harry Met Sally is one of those cult classics that people curl up with on a sick-day, or after a breakup, and say it makes them feel all warm and fuzzy, and like there's someone out there for them after all.
Actually, I had the opposite response. Because it doesn't really happen like this, does it? Take out the 'I've realised I'm in love and I'm running to tell you so in a maybe creepy but maybe romantic way'…
"This isn't fun any more", Charlotte Gainsbourg whispers. 'No, it's not', I think. It hasn't been for a long time. I'm waiting - no, hoping! - for the destruction of our planet and with it these bizarrely fragile characters.
Melancholia has some powerful metaphors, I'll admit that much.
Ever had a panic attack? Crushing weight on your chest, breath hard to come by, a dense feeling of horror, certainty that something terrible is about to happen, no matter how much…