There is something in the air at the moment, as though we are currently going through some kind of retrograde. Anxieties are heightened. The sadness feels more prominent. The crying is never-ending. There is this notion that the dread I feel in my chest is never going to abandon its mission of making me feel as low as the ground below my feet.
For a short while now, I’ve been worried about little Tash. Is she safe? Would she be proud of who I’ve become? Can she please just give me a hug? Following the release of Greta Gerwig’s Barbie last year, I found myself drastically longing for my youth again—or, at least, remembering how happy I was back then. I suddenly felt fixated on looking through childhood pictures whilst at my parents’ house. One was me, age six, holding her Barbie with the biggest smile on her face. I missed her, and how much less anxious she was every second of every day. That’s the struggle of getting older. No one explains how we can protect our mental health, or how to prepare for life’s struggles and heartbreak. We’re left to fend for ourselves. Anxiety. Sadness. Depression. Dependency. Loneliness. The list is non-exhaustive.
Self-care is unique to us all, a subjective difference amongst us. It’s like asking someone what their favorite film is and every time getting a different answer and reason why. Films are beneficial for our mental health. The escapism is glorious. For self-care, many turn to exercise, going to the gym or starting running as a way to boost endorphins. For some, it might be creative self-care—using arts and crafts as a way of focusing. The art of rewatching films is arguably as beneficial as watching films in the cinema. I’m not ashamed to say that Catherine Hardwicke’s Twilight is in my Letterboxd Four Favorites. I was only 11 years old when the film was released in 2008, and to say it was an integral part of my upbringing is an understatement. Trust me, I was an ultimate Twihard (the term diehard fans were given). Merchandise galore—yes, I do still have my Alice Cullen crest choker. Twilight, based on Stephenie Meyer’s internationally best-selling book, became an overnight sensation. In fact, no one could have predicted another wave of film-fan frenzy to rival the success of the Harry Potter franchise. What teen wouldn’t fall in love with a tale of a young girl who finds herself dazzled by a vampire—let alone a vampire such as Edward Cullen, portrayed by Robert Pattinson?
Throughout the five years that the Twilight saga was dominating the film world, I would find myself in a constant pattern of rewatching the first film over and over again, never with a feeling of boredom but with a sense of relaxation. I felt calm and collected, whilst silently struggling to fit in with those around me. Now at the age of 27, I have more of an understanding as to why I keep turning to the film as a safety blanket, and that our memories cement how we feel about a certain period of our lives. The concept of comfort-blanket films goes back to self-care mechanisms; the films we choose to rewatch tend to have ties to nostalgic feelings and our longing to go back to happier periods of our lives, or perhaps memories we hold tightly. Watching Twilight at this age brings back the same feeling I had when I was 11—I felt safe, and I continue to feel safe when watching it. In the past year or two, we have suddenly found ourselves in a post-pandemic Twilight renaissance thanks to streaming services, but others my age who grew up with the film have taken to social media sites like TikTok and Instagram to show appreciation for it, having Twilight-themed watching parties and thrifting merchandise. Perhaps a reason why I feel so consumed positively by the iconic film is through its community, and how 15 years ago I felt an immense sense of belonging within the fandom. The Twihard community felt immense. In celebration of the releases of New Moon, Eclipse, and both Breaking Dawn films, San Diego Comic-Con would debut trailers and conduct interviews with the likes of Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson. It was a frenzy, and I wanted to be in that room so bad that I would tear up watching the interviews on YouTube. Seeing millions of fans share the same love for a film and franchise made you feel like you had a purpose. Social media doubled down on this as a way to relate to others’ feelings towards the film, and ignore the background noise of those physically around me that didn’t understand the connection.
The art of rewatching films is not just fun, but ultimately allows us to revisit a medium that is familiar. During low moments, we can easily find ourselves distracted, whether from a lack of motivation or simply being consumed by thoughts and stress. The idea of comfort films is that by understanding the plot already we feel eased by it. It’s simply our mind during a rewatch saying This is known to me, so you can relax. Hardwicke’s direction on Twilight has been praised since its release, mainly due to its independent edge compared to the other films within the franchise. In comparison to most films in color, Twilight’s blue tint was inspired by the color contrast of its location—the rainy town of Forks, Washington—and the Cullen family’s pale, vampy complexion. As backed up by Verywell Mind, which has called blue “peaceful, tranquil, [and] secure,” the color has a pacifying effect on our nervous system, allowing us to relax. I’ve struggled with anxiety for as long as I can remember. It almost feels as though I cannot breathe at times, my mind and all of its thoughts becoming gigantic question marks. Twilight provides the comfort of being able to settle my mind for a few hours, without feeling like I am losing myself.
The void we can feel as we get older sometimes creates heaviness in our minds, and through self-care mechanisms like rewatching our favorite films, our worries can fade for a short while. Most of the time, when we choose to put on a film or television show that feels nostalgic, we don’t recognize the benefits until we exclaim that we feel calmer after. Comfort films are a form of self-expressive therapy, a silent self-help that really can boost our emotions and mood. Most of the time, we don’t even realize we are self-prescribing this type of therapy, but that is what makes it beneficial. Sometimes self-care doesn’t need to be known. If it’s doing the job in allowing anxieties to fade for a few hours, then there is no need to alter our thought process by overthinking it.
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