A patently ludicrous cult thriller about Devil worship and human sacrifice in which Martin Sheen screams a lot, The Believers occupies a strange space between camp and grim mean-spiritedness (the opening scene seems specifically designed to have traumatically scarred me as a child, which is exactly what it did).
“What is that?” I asked. My God, the haunting tune brought tears to my eyes. “It’s a love song from Zanzibar,” he said.
I laugh, because this is directed at me. Céline knew me too damn well.
One out of two people in the US will consider suicide this year.
We are so caught up in being the person who cares less, that we become afraid of even caring at all.