There are only a few moments I imagined sharing with my kids before I even had any. Sitting them down to watch the movies I grew up with—especially this one, the one I watched more than any other—was always near the top of that list.

My daughter is seven now, two years older than I was when I saw Ghostbusters for the first time. I’d hesitated to screen this for her, partly because she spooks easily with movies, and partly…

Why this film? Why is this film my favorite out of the thousands I’ve seen? I’m still not sure. It’s technically exquisite, perfectly acted, edited as sharply as a samurai blade, but so are a lot of other movies. I think, after all these viewings, it has something to do with a self-destructive streak I’ve long had inside that I recognize in this portrayal of La Motta. There’s a tethered feeling I have with this movie that I suspect everyone…