What Are Your Letterboxd "Top 4" Trying to Tell You?

You can tell a lot about a person by what films they have in their Letterboxd “Top 4”.

My picks are, as pictured above:

• Little Shop of Horrors (1986) dir. Frank Oz.

• The Fly (1986) dir. David Cronenberg.

• Thelma & Louise (1991) dir. Ridley Scott.

• Batman Returns (1992) dir. Tim Burton.

At first glance, these films have nothing in common… But as I began writing an introduction post for this Substack, it dawned on me that all of these films are telling the same story. Different characters, different settings, different paths to tragedy. All are asking the same question of their protagonists: what are they willing to do to gain freedom from themselves and to have a taste of the life they think they deserve?

In Little Shop of Horrors, Seymour enables a bloodthirsty plant to escape feeling meek and invisible. In The Fly, Seth’s ego drives him to transcend the limitations of science and his own flesh. In Batman Returns, the timid secretary Selina is reborn as Catwoman, and feels “so much yummier” as a result. And in Thelma & Louise… Thelma and Louise refuse to return to the lives they’ve left behind and see out their desert-sprawling crime spree to the very end of the road.

Every one of them catches a glimpse of another self. A bigger, louder, freer, more alive self. And once they’ve seen it, there’s no going back. It’s simply not an option for them.

Realising this has raised an uncomfortable question that I’ve been avoiding for longer than I want to admit: what am I trying to escape from?

It’s a big and melodramatic question.

Honestly, I think I’ve found myself stuck in a life that feels too small. Like Seymour and Selina, I’m trapped in a meaningless job that I get no enjoyment out of, and have no sense of self-expression in my day-to-day life. Like Seth, I'm forever convinced that the next breakthrough will finally make me the person I imagine myself becoming.

I'm not inventing a telepod. I just want to write.

In Thelma & Louise, Louise offers Thelma some sage advice: “You get what you settle for.” And it rings in my mind daily. She’s right. I’m settling for what’s comfortable and easy out of fear. Fear that I’ll try and be mocked or ignored. But what I’m doing now isn’t working either. Choosing what’s easy but wholly unfulfilling is one thing for a day, or a week, or even a month. But I’ve been doing it for years. And the longer I put it off, the bigger an issue it becomes. The harder it becomes to change.

That’s what I’m trying to do with this space. I want to get back into the habit of writing something with substance. Anything. It doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect. It’s almost certainly going to be consistently messy, but hopefully it’ll offer a cathartic release.

Maybe that’s what all four films have been trying to tell me for years. Transformation begins with a choice. Seymour feeds the plant. Seth gets into the telepod. Selina is revived as Catwoman. Thelma and Louise drive on, despite how treacherous their journey has become. None of them know where that decision will lead, or if it was even the right decision. They just know that staying put is no longer an option.

None of these films end happily. And I think that’s part of why I love them. They don’t pretend that becoming someone else is painless… or even survivable.

Seymour doesn’t get to live happily with Audrey. Seth doesn’t get to magically undo his horrific mutation. Selina doesn’t get to live in Bruce Wayne’s castle. Thelma and Louise don’t get to go home, or even turn themselves in. All of them reject the comforting fantasy that if something doesn’t work out, you can just undo it. Once you change, you are changed. Transformation isn’t necessarily for good, but it is irreversible.

I’m not expecting this Substack to transform my life, or that I’ll suddenly become someone else. But it feels like the first deliberate step towards becoming the version of myself that I’ve been imagining for years.

If my “Top 4” have taught me anything, it’s that staying the same is rarely the safer option, it just feels like it is. Staying the same is its own kind of tragedy, one you can’t see until you’re on the other side of it.