The Whale fucking destroyed me.
With about fifteen minutes to go, I felt the lump forming in my throat. After a tiny plot twist, things started getting blurry. During the climactic scene, the tears started flowing freely, and by the time the credits rolled, I was an absolute mess. I wasn’t the only one, as I heard sniffling from two others in my row. My tears continued on the way out of the theatre, down the escalator, on the walk home in 10-degree weather, and as I feebly attempted to explain to my wife why my eyes were so red. After calming down over the next hour, I was left with one question: how the Hell did The Whale do this to me?
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