I didn’t sleep much for ten years growing up. A decade of staring at ceilings, burning through nights that wouldn’t end. When you can’t sleep, and your life is falling apart, you need something to hold onto. For me, that was films. I’d put on The Dark Knight. Man of Steel. Interstellar. Movies where someone gets destroyed, stands back up, and does the thing anyway. They kept me fighting.

The right film at the right moment can do something nothing else does.

I got hooked studying film noir. Double Indemnity, Chinatown, Memento. Movies built on shadows and bad decisions, where the smartest person in the room is usually wrong and the plot tightens like a knot you can't undo. That's where I learned what a screenplay could do. What a camera angle could do. What lighting could do. What it meant when a director trusted the audience to keep up. From there, the obsession spread. Fincher's precision. Spielberg's instinct for where to put the camera so a moment becomes permanently lodged in your memory. Nolan building clockwork narratives you have to see twice to fully understand, then wanting to see a third time anyway. Villeneuve making silence feel enormous. The great action films that turn physics into poetry. The psychological thrillers that leave you staring at the ceiling the same way insomnia used to, except now you're choosing it. Hollywood, and filmmaking at its best, produces work that can stand next to anything in any art form. I believe that. The people who built this medium were obsessives and lunatics and genuine artists, and the best ones working today still are.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, the conversation around movies got hijacked in bad faith. Reviews started reading like compliance checklists. People scoring films on what they represent instead of whether they work. An entire generation of viewers trained to ask "what does this say about society?" before they ask "did this make me feel anything?"

Meanwhile, Disney and Marvel figured out how to industrialize the medium: release a film every few months, cast it well enough that nobody complains, sand off every rough edge that might make someone uncomfortable, and collect a billion dollars while the culture applauds the packaging instead of questioning the product. Studios watched that model print money and concluded that cinema doesn't need vision. They began focusing on repetitive IP, a release calendar, and a marketing budget that drowns out everything else in the room. The films that actually swing for something, the ones that take real creative risks, get buried under discourse about the latest mediocre franchise entry. All the highest grossing movies are the cinematic equivalent of cheap junk food. I think that's done real damage. It's turned film talk into something exhausting and dishonest, and it's pushed out the audience that just wants to know if a movie is worth two hours of their life.

If you've ever walked out of a theater vibrating and needed someone to talk to about it, this is the place. I don't grade on a curve. I don't care what a film is supposed to mean to the discourse. I care whether it lands.

I started writing because the feeling after a great film, that specific alertness, the need to grab someone and tell them about it, disappears fast. This is my way to bottle up and share that feeling with people around the world.

The name comes from the film format. 70mm is the widest, richest image a cinema can project, reserved for films that want to fill your entire field of vision and make you forget the room you’re sitting in.