Back in eighth grade, there was a movie on demand that I’d watch just about every day. I wasn’t always actively watching (or enjoying) it, but it was my background noise and my comfort. At a time when I didn’t have many friends and wasn’t having many new experiences, I’d huddle under a blanket on my couch and put on…Grown Ups. Yes, the Adam Sandler-led disaster Grown Ups, which I will stand by as a feel-good summer flick even if I haven’t returned to it since—mostly out of what I expect to be a deep shame. Look, I can’t explain my taste in films. I will watch anything and love the worst things. So, at least I can describe it.
Over time, my taste has evolved but my behavior hasn’t quite caught up. As it turns out, I’d do this a lot over the course of the next decade of my life. Good or bad, I find the greatest comfort in sinking deep beneath the layers of the games, shows and movies that I find an inkling of familiarity or warmth in. When I was going through my earliest romantic squabbles, (500) Days of Summer was my guiding light and has gone on to become my favorite movie of all time. The last year’s been a notoriously difficult one, due in large part to being isolated from the people I care about. Because of this, I did the thing I always do: I withdrew into a sort of cocoon, woven from the threads of the media I love. The hope, I guess, was that I’d emerge from it a fully-formed human again. After all, so many of our identities and beliefs are shaped by things we consume. I don’t know much about the science behind the healing properties of media, but with little else to do and bordering on collapse, I was game. Over the course of the pandemic, I’ve rewatched the entirety of Gilmore Girls (twice!) in the hope that maybe one day I’ll wake up in a sleepy, early 2000s Connecticut town where my biggest problems are the spoiled rich kids at school. And last fall, when I was shut in—cold and alone once again—I reached out to another single movie binge: Set It Up. I watched it about a dozen times in a week…and then maybe another dozen in the month after.
It wasn’t a situation where Set It Up immediately became my favorite movie ever. At first, in the middle of a depressive spiral, I just needed something comforting and light to put on to feel alright. I had watched it in the past and loved it, but had never returned to the movie. It’s embarrassing to admit, but when I watched it that first of a few dozen times, I latched on so hard that I actually immediately replayed it—to the point where I passed out on the couch with it in the background. Just like that, I’d formed some connection to the movie that brought me peace of mind and I was hooked. It wouldn’t be for a while, perhaps after those first dozen viewings, that I realized that the sweet trappings of Set It Up drew me in, but it wasn’t what kept me around.
For those unfamiliar with Set It Up, it’s a Netflix film about two assistants (Zoey Deutch, Glen Powell) with horrible (read: abusive) bosses (Lucy Liu, Taye Diggs), whom they set up so they can get off their backs and reclaim their lives. It was widely touted as a return to form for rom-coms when it came out—which I echo, but you could probably tell that already. My reasons for loving it have very little to do with the substance of the plot or characters, though, and everything to do with its setting.
Set It Up reminded me of home at a time when it felt so far away. Let me tell you a little bit about summer in my home—and the best place in the world—New York City. It’s magical and, especially in the summer, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Something about the seemingly infinite possibilities of this city and the good weather make it come alive, and I come alive with it. On the best days, I walk around and encounter the strangest characters. A man known only as “skate shirt guy” in my phone is just one of the weirdos I’ve bumped into while exploring. I ran into him after wandering around Williamsburg for a few hours, wanting to find a bar to sit down and have a drink. More than any buzz I could ever hope to build, “skate shirt guy”—who was standing outside of one such bar and in fact completely stopped me from entering one—immediately lit me up. Forgetting my mission, I sat with him on the sidewalk outside for what felt like half an hour as he drunkenly regaled me with his life story (he has been all over the place), philosophy (the most “free love” kind of guy I’ve ever met) and what he did for work (which I’ll leave you to puzzle together from his name in my phone). I’ve never spoken to him or even walked past that place since, and yet they’ve remained rooted in my head as a quintessentially New York experience I can’t wait to have again.