This Still F—ks Me Up: The Ending of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Tourist traps get a bad rap. There is a reason the Taj Mahal attracts millions of visitors a year, or why there is an endless line to reach the top of the Duomo in Milan. It is not a “trap” to be awed by the intricate stonework, or to find yourself thinking of all the talent and pain that went into making something so beautiful. These places were built to make us feel our own humanity. And yet, too often, we’re told we’re rubes for falling for them. Get off the beaten path and see something real, we’re scolded, as if our emotional response is fake.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a tourist trap of cinema. To many, it's a relic of a particular era of indie movies, defined by Michel Gondry, Charlie Kaufman, and anyone who saw their work and tried to make a visually complex, esoteric yet heartfelt film about loneliness. The conceit is that Joel (Jim Carrey) and Clementine (Kate Winslet) were in a powerful but volatile relationship, the kind where you’re deeply in love but also desperately need therapy. But instead of therapy, Clem chooses to erase her memories of Joel with a newly developed procedure. Joel decides to do the same, and the film is a trip through his subconscious as he tries to stop the procedure from inside his mind, clinging to the memories of Clem even though they bring him pain.

Spoiler (for a film that came out in 2004): By the end they meet again and are immediately attracted to each other, only to discover that they’ve been down this road before. “I can't see anything that I don't like about you,” says Joel, and Clementine tells him, “But you will! But you will. You know, you will think of things. And I'll get bored with you and feel trapped because that's what happens with me.” Again, they both need therapy. But in the face of this, Joel just says, “Okay.” Yes, it will probably end badly, but that’s no reason not to try when your heart is compelling you toward this person. Let’s do it again, because we can’t not.

Almost 15 years later, the movie has become something easy to look down on for tearing up over because it’s so obvious. Of course you cry at their reunion, filled with joy and impending sadness. That’s what everyone does. It was also sometimes accused of perpetuating the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope, even though, three years before the term was even coined, Clem took Joel to task for trying to make her one ("Too many guys think I'm a concept, or I complete them, or I'm gonna make them alive,” she tells him. “But I'm just a fucked-up girl who's looking for my own peace of mind. Don't assign me yours"). It’s become a bit pathetic to be taken in by the emotional journey, like you’re too ignorant to come to your own conclusions, and instead feel what the creators intended you to feel.

You’re supposed to cry at the end, and I do, every time. By the final “okay” and the swell of the Jon Brion score, I’m overwhelmed with that particular mix of sadness, nostalgia, and hope Charlie Kaufman is so good at. I think about the most painful parts of my past relationships and how they don’t feel so painful anymore. I think about the issues I can’t get past and the patterns I keep repeating. I think about things I wish I’d said, things I wish I’d figured out earlier to save me pain, but how I never would have figured it out without the pain. I walk away feeling gentler toward my own memories.

I cry at a lot of obvious things, like weddings and heartfelt speeches and the “night flight to San Francisco” monologue from Angels in America. And I love it. You can never trust what anyone else is thinking, but when you see them cry at the same time you cry, you know you’re feeling something like the same thing. I don’t want to roll my eyes at the obvious cries. I want to stare in awe with a stranger at the Taj Mahal.