Sophy’s review published on Letterboxd:
I have often thought that when we die, we get the opportunity to watch a certain few key moments of our lives. It would always be surprising what would be determined as "key" -- you don't get to pick, nor might you agree, but nevertheless they are the times that perhaps best illustrate when you were most alive. Some of your regrets now become fantasies, completely valid expressions of love or hate that shaped who you became. Now that the judgement of others no longer plays a role in your perception of self, you are able to see more clearly how you might have felt, free from their opinions. You can now genuinely commit the idea that yes, you enjoyed the things that were superficial and maybe even needed them. You remember parts of songs, not even ones you necessarily liked but ones the connote memories, smells and lucid visions. Do you remember people as perfect or imperfect? Suddenly you have to reflect on the fight or flight moments you put yourself into, where you were moving backwards and forwards all at once. Your immoral decisions, your selfish thoughts, you no longer wish to take them back and if you do, you realize you might not have felt the things that you now recall as "experiences". The smell of the nape of someones neck is more important, more remarkable than your own graduation. You had no idea, and no way to know what these milestones were as they laid themselves out in front of you. Giving yourself completely and getting nothing in return, but still feeling the most profound sense of love. Is it easier to remember the intricacies of love, then of pain and trauma, or do they become equal?
Were you a good person, or did you just want people to think you were so they'd like you.