Dear Almost Famous (Cameron Crowe, 2000),
This isn’t so much a love letter as it is a “like” letter. I like you, Almost Famous, I really like you. But I don’t love you. I certainly don’t love you the way Cameron Crowe loves you, which I suppose is why he extended your stay by approximately 40 minutes to a staggering 2 hours and 42 minutes in total length. I have to say, I liked you a lot better when you were shorter. When you were focused and took yourself less seriously. You were more likeable and a lot less redundant. Almost Famous, you were perfectly adorable just the way you were!
But don’t worry. I still like you. In fact, I like you a lot. I like your warm glow. I like your brilliant ensemble cast— everyone from Kate Hudson, to Patrick Fugit, to Philip Seymour Hoffman, to Frances McDormand, to Jason Lee, to Billy Crudup. All were great, and I give you a big thumbs up on that one! I like how you make me feel nostalgic. I like how you remind me of my father’s extensive vinyl collection of classic rock. I like your cuteness, Almost Famous, and your cheesy little jokes. I like the way you love your characters, and also the way you love yourself. It really shines through. I like the music that you love, and you know I’d dance to your hip tunes any day of the week. I like talking about you and reminiscing over your various parts, especially when you’re not around.
Like that time when “The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late)” plays against the backdrop of a warm, lazy Californian winter. So perfect! Or that time when everyone happily sang along to Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” on the tour bus. My God, it was so sentimental it almost made me cry! Oh, and remember that one time when Billy Crudup yells, “I am a golden God,” and then jumps off the roof high on LSD? That was fun, too.
Almost Famous, I’m grateful for the time I spent with you and I cherish all of your broad, coming-of-age, philosophical musings. Like, when you said, “music sets you free.” Or, better yet, “music chooses you.” Totally love it. And how about that profound question you asked that one time— “Who put such a high premium on being typical?” Great question. Oh, and what about that really sage-like comment you made in regard to writing? I believe it was something, like: “it’s what you leave out.” Yes, that’s right. You yourself might want to ponder that one…
Anyway, it’s getting late and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see you again. And I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I hope next time I see you, you’ll be back to your original, short, sweet, adorable self.
PS. Don’t do drugs.