Okay, yes, that Nicole Kidman AMC ad– I’m sure you’ve seen the one– is laughably dramatic. She walks into an empty theater looking like she’s about to announce the end of war, sits down solemnly, and says, “Somehow, heartbreak feels good in a place like this.” It’s become a meme, a joke, something we quote just to be funny before the trailers start. I find the whole thing very humorous.

But you know what? She’s kind of onto something.

There really is something different about feeling things in a movie theater. The lights go down, the world gets quiet, and for two hours, you’re somewhere else entirely. You’re living inside someone else’s story, but also– weirdly– finding your own feelings in there too. And what’s especially powerful about movie theaters is that they are places in which you can be fully present. You’re not folding laundry or checking your phone or half-watching while texting. You’re in it. You’re allowed to focus. And in a world that never stops buzzing, that’s rare.

Let’s talk about one of my favorite movies: Ratatouille.

On the surface, it’s a cute Pixar film about a rat who wants to cook. But underneath that, it’s honestly one of the most beautiful stories about creativity I’ve ever seen. It’s about having something inside you that needs to be expressed, even if the world says you’re not supposed to be the one doing it. It’s about pushing past fear, past doubt, past impostor syndrome– and making something anyway.

That scene near the end where Remy is running around the kitchen, tasting, adjusting, creating– it’s pure chaos, but it’s also pure art. It’s what it feels like to make something from scratch. He’s in flow. He knows what he’s doing, even when no one else believes in him. And isn’t that what being creative feels like sometimes? You’re trying to make something meaningful in a world that tells you it’s not your place.

And that moment when the critic, Anton Ego, takes a bite of Remy’s dish– and is instantly taken back to a memory so personal it knocks the wind out of him– that’s it. That’s the power of art. That’s what movies can do. They reach into your chest and say, “Remember this?” They remind us who we are, or who we used to be, or who we still want to become.

That scene still gets me. Because it’s not about the food, but rather about memory, emotion, connection… all the things that movies and art are meant to trigger in a person. They sneak past our defenses and hit something real. You don’t always know why you’re crying or laughing or holding your breath– but you are.

That’s the magic! And it’s not something you can replicate at home while you’re half-scrolling on TikTok. It’s something that happens when you let yourself be fully absorbed.

Besides the fact that Ratatouille is simply a 10/10 movie, it’s also proof that creativity doesn’t care about who’s “supposed” to have a voice. It just wants to exist. The most powerful films don’t come from people following recipes– they come from people telling the truth. Even if it’s weird. Even if it’s risky. Even if it’s animated and stars a rodent in Paris.

That’s the magic Nicole’s talking about, underneath all the melodrama. The movie theater isn’t just a place to be entertained. It’s a place we connect, remember, reflect, imagine. Where heartbreak (and joy, and hope, and longing) really does feel good, because we’re finally letting ourselves feel it.

So yeah. Laugh at the ad. Quote it. I probably will too.

But I’ll also keep going back to that theater. I’ll keep showing up for stories like Ratatouille– stories that remind me that creativity is messy and beautiful and for everyone. Because even in a dark room full of strangers, movies have a way of making us feel seen.

And that’s magic.