To love is to remember.
At this point in popular culture, there’s little I can say about Michel Gondry’s “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” (2004) that many haven’t already expressed. The film follows Joel Barish (Jim Carrey) as he realizes his ex-girlfriend, Clementine Kruczynski (Kate Winslet), has erased him from her memory.
In retribution, Joel’s proceeds to erase Clementine (Clem). The movie tracks their most recent memories to their oldest, as Joel relives each second just to lose them entirely. Throughout the process, he grapples with letting go, begging the technicians to stop the operation despite knowing they can’t hear him. The audience meets Clem through his memories of her as eclectic, genuine, warm but distanced, and artistically irreverent. The first time he meets her, she grabs a drumstick from his plate, breaks into a house, and steals from David and Ruth Laskin’s liquor cabinet.
This initial, fleeting scene encapsulates their complex dynamic. Joel accompanies his friends Carrie Eakin (Jane Adams) and Rob Eakin (David Cross) to a beach party in Montauk. Feeling socially isolated, he sits aside on wooden steps, eating fried chicken. Clem approaches him in her classic orange sweatshirt, and the two banter. After reliving their meet-cute, Clem breaks the memory’s fourth wall and asks, “This is it Joel. It’s gonna be gone soon…What do we do?” He replies, “Enjoy it.”
Throughout the scene, we fall in love with Clem as Joel does. Her orange sweatshirt conflicts with the blue sky, water, and plate surrounding them. Clem stands out without trying to. Joel, dressed in all black, contrasts her vibrance. However, as they speak, his face flushes with the same shade of red around her neck. The toy airplane’s buzzing transforms into the score’s shifting strings, swelling as they speak. Clementine waltzes around the beach, and Joel follows, laughing. She breaks into David and Ruth Laskin’s house, as Joel reveals he’s in a relationship with Naomi, who the audience never meets. Scared he might act on his feelings for Clem, Joel leaves.
But, recollecting the memory, he says, “I wish I had stayed. I do.” Clem whispers, “Meet me in Montauk,” as an intimate montage of their relationship quickly slips from Joel’s mind. In his consciousness, the house breaks apart, sand fills his bedroom, and Clementine becomes defined by her absence. Joel helplessly grasps the grains in his hands, trying to hold onto any speck of their relationship. He’s unsuccessful. The score stops. Joel’s life goes silent, and he awakes, not knowing what compels him to Montauk.
For Joel, intimacy lies in their small exchanges: how Clem notices his isolation, takes his chicken, and dances around the beach with him. Sure, he describes her orange sweatshirt as “cool,” but their love expresses itself through bated breath, abbreviated eye contact, and nearly-missed connections. Joel remembers every moment of their exchange, from the color of her shirt to the words he wishes he never said.
There’s something about the film’s tenderness that speaks to its not-quite cult following. For one, Clementine, with her shifting hair colors and vibrant self-expression, is reminiscent of the liberal arts personality familiar to many misunderstood creatives, myself included. She’s incredibly bold, and excruciatingly earnest. Joel, on the other hand, is reserved, quiet, and only becomes personable through his connection with Clem. Gondry reminds us that the best parts of ourselves might be those that others bring out of us, even if we loathe them for it. The absence of love is indifference, not hatred.
But, “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” is my favorite film for its thesis: to love is to remember. It memorializes the small exchanges behind communication, away from the facilities that govern speech. Gondry expresses care through close shots, Winslet in furrowed brows, and Carrey through sparse smiles. The cinematography tells us that these are the moments worth remembering. To imagine that anyone perceives us is personal enough, much less memorizes our physiological quirks.
Yet, we do. We count each freckle, note the chip on their teeth, and how their mole slims as they giggle, documenting these traces of intimacy as we breathe. Noticing these details is effortless, yet we fear expressing that these images permeate our minds. When we want to erase them, we claim to hate their freckles, wish they bonded their teeth or lasered off that hideous mole. Still, we remember every feature in close shots, shared breath, and brushed shoulders. We found self-love through those we poured attention onto. Truth is, we fear shedding that vulnerability more than losing the relationship itself.
Because deep down, the affection lingers even if we claim it won’t. New experiences collapse into the old, imperfectly replacing the last. We remain with a piece of ourselves missing without the connecting language to express this loss. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” locates this lasting fear as Joel bargains with his psyche, “Please let me keep this memory, just this one.” The world we created with them disappears forever.
Perhaps even if we tried to erase our memories, we would resist like Joel. We hold onto photos of friends that we no longer speak to. We pass our exes without exchanging a word. Our speech expresses a history that our hope doesn’t allow to exist. No matter how often we think we’re over them, we miss the intimate jokes only shared between us. We place that love onto someone else, but it never feels the same.
Our minds force our hearts to tear by a million paper cuts. We bleed, but subconsciously smile every time we notice the scabs. The best we can wish for are faded-white scars.
Despite its title, “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” argues for the spots. Our inability to be blank allows us to experience the zenith of joy, if only for a fleeting moment. Perhaps we value it more because of its transience. We’ll forever recall the second our sun shines brightest.
I agree, to love is to remember.
