Let me tell you a story about a woman I knew who loved movies.
My previous blog was about film. In the beginning it was devoted to contemporary ones for the most part. Then I discovered bloggers who wrote about older movies—the black and white ones. Over time, I devoted more space in my blog to the oldies as a result of reading theirs. I gravitated towards these bloggers for various reasons, but mostly because I learned more from them—about Old Hollywood, true, but also about who these bloggers were, what they value, why these movies mean as much as they do to them.
She came from a family of movie lovers, her and her three sisters and their extended families. I’d never seen a clan bonded by a shared passion like theirs was, and is. Silent movies in particular was their great love, especially comedies. If they had built a shrine to Buster Keaton somewhere, it wouldn’t surprise me.
I visited her blog and she visited mine and in time, we got to know each other better. I wasn’t familiar with a number of her favorites. Her tastes often ran towards things like British dramas and Westerns, in addition to silent comedies. She had an eye for detail and a wit I found endearing; it was what kept me coming back.
Sometimes I would write a post on my blog in response to something she wrote and we’d discuss it. She had a perspective I found enlightening at some times, humorous at others, but I’d come to recognize it as uniquely hers. She didn’t write editorials per se, but through her reviews I learned which things in a movie she valued, such as music. She was big on American songbook-type material; ironic, since she was Canadian.
In fact, I believe I connected more with her comments, on both our blogs, than anything else. They let me see other sides to her: the wife, and mother of two—including a special needs child—who were her pride and joy; the performing artist; the Trekkie, the baseball fan. And yet as much as I know about her, in some ways I feel as if I’d only scratched the surface. She lived in another country. It wasn’t like we could’ve gone to the movies together.
Oh, but how I wished we could have. I always told her, one day I would come up there to Toronto and we’d go see a Keaton film together. The pandemic shot that dream down, but I had started to hope it might rise again. Now this.
I had ended my film blog and started this one and she followed me, something I wasn’t sure she would do since I talk about movies less often here. I’m so glad she did. Now her memory is part of this blog too, if only for a short time.
I can’t believe I won’t have her to talk to about movies anymore. She had been part of my online life for a decade and I thought she always would be. Watching old films will feel different now.
Patricia Nolan-Hall was a woman whose soul was tied to Old Hollywood and the memories they stirred, old and new. She was a blogger. She was my dear friend.
She was Paddy.
