Degree to which I can deal with Patrick Stewart’s performance in Logan: NEGATIVE NINE THOUSAND.
ME: This is fine.
BRAIN: No it’s not that’s Mom up there
ME: He’s just doing a great job is all.
BRAIN: YES OF PORTRAYING YOUR PAST PRESENT AND FUTURE
ME: The frail cruelty switching unexpectedly to tenderness and back is particularly true to–
BRAIN: THIS HOODIE IS NOT DEEP ENOUGH TO HIDE ALL YOUR TEARS MAKE IT STAHHHHHHP
Seriously. I have zero stakes in the X-men — I know little about them; they’re not a fandom of mine. But criminy. I cannot deal. After the movie over drinks and dinner I did elaborate pirouettes around the subject of Patrick Stewart, desperate not to have to discuss it or return there emotionally because oh my god. No. I can’t. There are no hoodies deep enough to hide the tears. Most of the feels for that movie were supposed to be elsewhere but I spent every scene with Patrick Stewart on-screen sitting there poleaxed, one supportive shoulder squeeze away from complete meltdown.