This final image from Paul Thomas Anderson's Magnolia has obsessed me for a long time. I had to live with it fixed in my mind so long before I started to understand its true meaning. At the beginning, it was simply the limit between the light of the movie's final frame and the darkness of the credits; between Claudia's tear asking for someone to save her and her smile, the reflection of Jim's kindness. Then, after some time, that frontier point anchored its place in my personal cinephile history - marking in some way the death of an innocent, childlike relation with movies, although that has never been never definitively lost, and never completely recovered. This image was for me a kind of rite of passage, the ending of cinema as I knew it before, and the beginning of a new interaction with images, basically a more analytical interaction. In spite of all this, what is not lost is the hope that like Peter Pan or Superman (as Aimee Mann sings over Claudia's face) a film will come to save me.