When I was a little boy, before I even understood what film was, I used to draw pictures on strips of construction paper and run them through the slats on the saloon doors between the kitchen and the dining room—a rough simulation of the way film works. (This was the mid-’70s, when people liked to pretend they lived in the Old West. We had a player piano, too.) Given my future profession, that’s always been a cute origin story, the innocent beginnings of a lifelong obsession. But if I decide to bore my children and future grandchildren ...
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