Möllevången, the neighbourhood in Malmö where my sub-project is based, is home to the well-loved independent movie theatre, Biograf Panora. When I went to Panora for the first time in September, I was happily surprised to see that they had recently become a Cineville-cinema. Cineville is a subscription model that allows members unlimited access to films playing at particular theatres for the monthly price of about two movies. Cineville has been a staple of my daily life in Amsterdam for over four years, so seeing its logo in Panora felt like stumbling across a small bit of home in the field. I immediately switched my Dutch Cineville account for Swedish, and started planning films into my weekly schedule.
In the time since, I’ve been going to see movies at Panora around twice a week, almost always alone. Whether this is fieldwork or a personal past-time, it’s tricky to say. For one, the Swedish subtitles serve as engaging Swedish practice. Even if the script has barely any new vocabulary, there are sure to be any one of the irregular verb conjugations I can’t seem to get down. I’ve started making sure to bring my fieldwork journal and have it set up on my lap with a pen ready by the time the lights lower. I imagine those seated around me must assume I’m a very keen film student.
In a way, I have felt more attuned to the films here than I usually do. I believe it’s at least partly that the notebook on my lap and pen in my hand prime me to think like a student (or an ethnographer); I am poised to tease out what might be worth comment — the story’s underlying assumptions, its character development, its symbolism.
Even more so, I believe the difference is that I’m watching alone. In Amsterdam, seeing movies was a way to spend time with friends, and despite enjoying solo movie trips, I rarely found time for them. Here in this new city, well, my social life has taken on a much slower pace. Finding time to myself is no problem. And when alone, I am much more sensitive to the emotions that find me throughout the day, whether they come from strangers in shared space, my own thoughts and memories, or art and storytelling.
I’ve been moved nearly to tears multiple times, including by The Roses (2025), a self-aware comedy in which Olivia Coleman and Benedict Cumberbatch play a married couple driven to absurd acts of violence by years of mounting resentments.
My walks home afterwards are often at dusk and always through Folkets Park, a dreamy park with warmly lit, winding paths and art installations made for children. These walks are heady: I end up caught in a swirl of thoughts and residual feelings stirred by whichever film I’ve just seen. My thoughts often tend toward my project, Knowing Love Differently (KLD); they take my feelings with them. With each film I am reminded of the whole world of experience, emotion and desire that exists within just one subcomponent of my project. The Life of Chuck (2025) posed the question of The Good Life, and what constitutes “enough” of life by midlife. What role do romantic relationships play in these assessments, and how does the role of romance in this film reflect that? Four Mothers (2025) and Sentimental Value (2025) brought me deep into the world of parenthood and the intergenerational impacts of difficult relationships between parents. How are others implicated in the emotional movements of a romantic relationship over time? How far do these ripple out across generations?
The amount of richness that emerges when you pay attention — the quiet, steady attention that comes with solitude — can be overwhelming. Sometimes, it gives me the feeling that I’m not doing justice to the complexity or weight of any individual subcomponent of KLD. To alleviate that without simply withdrawing, I have started thinking of my movie-going practice as a stream I can visit. Panora provides a flow — a flow of Swedish, a flow of emotion, a flow of insights — that I can’t swim in all the time without becoming fatigued, but I’m lucky to dip into whenever I’m in need of fresh energy.
Rhythms of Love 