Midnight in Paris made sense of my slight infatuation with the 1920s. The premise: a successful screenwriter quits his job to focus on a novel he won’t let anyone read. On vacation with his (privileged and somewhat condescending) wife and her parents, he is picked up every night at midnight and travels through time to the 1920s. While there he parties with Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald and his wife, Picasso and gets Gertrude Stein to edit his novel (!!!). It’s a clever film with a moral that reminded me of the proverb about the woman who, rather than exploring the present, spent her days dreaming of her childhood and days past. As an artist it is easy to get lost in memories to coax the burden of the creative process, and in dreams of the future to motivate us to keep going. Living in the present is much easier said than done, and especially challenging in a city that is most proud of the sleepless nights of its history and its pace.