Hey,
No rom-com reviews today. I’ve been thinking a lot about identity, multiples, and outer space—or some shit like that. I recently watched two movies that got me stuck on this concept, so I must write. Durrh. That being said, this post contains a mini-essay. I like writing essays here. My favorite is Did Amy Winehouse make side bitch music?—a post I wrote a couple of years ago. You should read it if you haven’t already. I love Amy.
As for the two movies—here’s the first one. Last week, I watched Mickey 17. I liked it. You should watch it before some film bro ruins it for you with criticism. I’ve been on both ends of that spectrum—the asshole that overanalyzes to the point of ruin and the one who loves a movie just because. It’s taught me a thing or two, mainly: watch the fucking movie, let it marinate.
Then, this week, I rewatched Uptown Girls, a movie I loved as a kid but hadn’t seen in over 15 years. It was a nostalgic watch, made even funnier because I saw it in a theater Nkosi used to work at. The whole neighborhood brings nostalgia—my mom worked five/six blocks away, Kris lived around the bend, Nicky and his fam was on St. Marks. He used to ask me to keep him company when he closed up, especially when they screened scary movies for the last showing. That theater was always dine-in at the table for me because Nkosi would pull up on me at my seat with snacks from the concession. We were young with a movie theater to ourselves—bringing home posters and shit. Twas fun. There were random props on the second floor; now it's a bar. What Joni say? They paved paradise and put up a parking lot. I like movies, though, so fuck it. Pretty sure I saw a familiar face after. Hi, Shannon.
The movie wasn’t as good as I remembered—ngl—but I think it’s because my frontal lobe has fully formed, and I’ve become more of a nigga, lmaooo. I did shed a tear, though. I relate to it in a way I never did as a kid. I didn’t even remember Dakota Fanning’s character’s dad having a stroke. I just remembered her as an unbearable child. Lowkey, I was like that as a kid. Now we have two things in common.
As I started connecting the dots in my mind, I realized that these films—Mickey 17 and Uptown Girls—were circling the same existential question from vastly different angles: what does it mean to be a singular self when we are always, in some way, a multiplicity?
Multiplicity Within: The Many Selves That Shape Us
Freud would have a field day with Mickey 17. The concept of "expendables"—clones who retain their memories despite dying over and over—presents a literalized version of his tripartite psyche. Mickey 17, the main guy, is the “rational” one. He's an ego trying to maintain balance in the chaos of space colonization and side conquests for sauce. Then, when Mickey 18 appears—essentially his genetic twin but personality opposite, the id set loose. What’s even crazier though is the original Mickey is kaput, and both these versions are just echoes of a self that was already an echo of another. If identity is just the sum of our memories and impulses, who’s to say which Mickey is real? They both are. Two sides of the same coin.
I was on a panel last week and was asked a question that brought me back to this idea of multiple selves. It reminded me of something my principal said to me in high school. After I tested into Cal 1 but flunked out of it, he pulled me into his office and fake-pressed me, telling me “We need a Janiel 2.0.” I don’t remember how I responded, but I think it was “What are you talking about?” But soon after, I found her—Janiel 2.0 was the version that got me through that last stretch of senior year two years early. She was wildly driven - also tweaking. But she was just another side of Janiel, one that had laid dormant until she needed to wake up. It’s like I met my own version of Mickey 18, who appeared when the situation demanded it.
Uptown Girls explores this multiplicity in a less sci-fi, more heartstring-pulling way. Molly (Brittany Murphy) and Ray (Dakota Fanning) are reflections of each other, again, two sides of the same coin. Molly is all feeling, all impulse—her id runs unchecked, indulging in whimsical chaos. Ray, meanwhile, is rigid, prematurely aged by grief and responsibility, the living embodiment of the superego. Their dynamic is about integration: Molly has to grow up, and Ray has to learn how to be a kid. Watching it now, with age and new understandings of loss, I saw myself in both of them. As a kid, I related to Ray’s hyper-awareness of adult problems, and now I see the tragedy in Molly’s arrested development, her refusal to acknowledge reality. We all contain these warring forces—sometimes, we’re the reckless dreamer; sometimes, we’re the over-cautious realist.
External Multiples: Who We Are in Relation to Others
Beyond the selves within, these films also pose questions about the selves we become through relationships. Mickey 17 approaches this literally—Mickey 17, Mickey 18, and Nasha (his gf) exist in the same space, allowing the audience to witness their growth. Uptown Girls is a bit subtler, showing how two opposing forces can shape each other just by being in proximity.
Above my computer, I keep a sticky note of a mantra I stole from Matthew McConaughey's 2014 Oscars speech: “(1) Something to look up to, (2) something to look forward to, and (3) something to chase”. The minute I heard it, I knew I wanted to remember it. He was talking about how he answers that 'Where do you see yourself in X years?' question. And he responded that he focused on those 3 principles. There go those multiples again, right? I find it interesting that he’s essentially describing the multiplicity of identity in the context of not just self-reflection but ambition and growth.
Embracing the Multiplicity
Y’all know that trend that’s like “Met my younger self for lunch and blah blah blah” I can’t even begin to think about the conversations I would have with my younger self. There was a time when I was a kid when I wanted to work at McDonalds to steal the fry recipe and make my own at home. Y’all - I had the ambitions of Plankaton lmaooo fuck was I thinking - about my belly.
I think I love movies because they allow me be multiple. Same with music. I’ll go from doing my best Eskista (shoulders!) to CHARGETHEMHOESAFEE (that Carti shit tough y’all), then be staring at the sunset listening to Yolanda Adams. I love those weird niche memes that perfectly capture the takeaway of this all: we are all, at any given moment, versions of ourselves in flux—never quite settled, always shifting, always containing multitudes. I imagine - all the way until the end.
I reread my Amy essay before I recommended it here, and I was reminded that the coroner listed her death as “death by misadventure,” a term particularly used in the UK, but nonetheless, a statement-stopping one. This idea that the soul can “misadventure” into its own demise—is an interesting sounding theory, but honestly, it's reality; it’s written into the death certificate of one of the greatest storytellers ever to put their tales on record (come on, double entendre), Amy Winehouse. Fuck it, though, I think she adventured boldly. I love listening to Frank Amy more than Back to Black Amy, though, not gonna lie. But like I’ve been saying this whole essay—it's all one Amy.
I ate that, right? Give me my tens, ten, take away two, I ate it up again, lmaoooo—existential esoteric content for your Friday night. My sister put me on to this guy, Victor Turner, and his concepts of Liminality and Communitas, she an anthropologist y’all, shawty brain big and smart. I’m very proud of her.
Oh yeah, I have an extra ticket to the Cleo Sol show next Monday, hit my line if you’re interested.
Good night. I hope y’all good.
Listening
Music is undoubtedly one of the best parts of being alive. Here are some of the tracks that have contributed to the soundtrack of my life this week:
Misc.
finsta flow
Lyric of the week:
Oh Lord, oh Lord we're not in Kansas anymore (drop down, drop drop down)
(Drop down, drop drop down)
We're not in Kansas anymore, yeah
J
1000000000!!!!!!! 🫡😮💨