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"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake and they live in a state of constant total amazement."
—  Patricia Graynamore. Joe vs The Volcano

  • If you’re a touchy-feely introspective soul, like myself, then you might enjoy this randomly┬áramshackle list of movies that I think have a particular interest to the NF personality types. Not to say that other personality types are excluded of course. I’m sure these choices appeal to a fairly broad audience, but intuitive feelers in particular might relate to where I’m coming from.

    So without further ado here’s my top ten NF movies of all time, (so far…)

    PS: spoiler alert for all movies listed.


    sense_sensibility
    10. Sense and Sensibility.
    So to kick start the list we have the 1996 adaptation of the classic period drama from the 19th century novelist Jane Austin. For me this is by far the best version out there. Ang Lee is a renowned director with a string of accomplished movies in his canon and this is a great example of how to deliver. As I’m sure you’re probably familiar with the story I’ll skip the exposition and focus mainly on the films artistic merits.

    Jane Austen being such a consummate scholar of character study herself that it’s fun to try and type the individuals in her novels, often illustrated to a good degree of familiarity I think. It’s a joy to see them come to life played by such competent actors.

    I can easily imagine myself transported to this romantic period drama era, (excluding the poor sanitation and potential for rampant dysentery of course). Having to endure the maddening social protocol whilst desperately harbouring chastened feelings of repressed sexuality. It’s that bitter sweet combination of tension and release that sets up a great and enduring narrative.

    And that final scene between Ellinor Dashwood and Edward Ferrars played so endearingly by Emma Thomson and Hugh Grant; exquisite.

 
 

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“In Budapest, surgeons operated on printer's apprentice Gyoergyi Szabo, 17, who, brooding over the loss of a sweetheart, had set her name in type and swollowed the type.”
Time Magazine 1936. From the book  Just My Type,
by Simon Garfield.