The Best of the 2010s: Top 20 Moments

You never know what will stick with you when you see a film. Sometimes, you think you know what you will take away, but then something else catches you by surprise and never leaves you. It could be a performance, a stunt, a joke, or maybe just a look, but when you see it, you know it. You feel it. Like the perfect line in a great song, it comes to define an experience. These moments can be painful or joyous or both, but no matter what they are, they are the experiences that make moviegoing so wonderful.

By their very nature, these moments are personal. Your 20 favorite film memories from the decade will be different from mine, and that is okay. That is great, in fact. I hope you share with me some of yours and allow me to share with you some of mine, the 20 moments from the 2010s that will stay with me forever.

20. The villagers are crucified – from Silence, directed by Martin Scorsese

Scorsese’s true magnum opus of the decade – his ultimate statement on the themes he has explored his entire career – is Silence, about a Jesuit missionary (Andrew Garfield) who sees himself in Christ’s image. In this extended crucifixion sequence, he is confronted with the reality of that image, and the emptiness of his words in the face of true suffering. He prays the villagers remember what Christ went through, but he watches as their torture continues for days and no amount of prayer will make it stop. When one villager sings a hymn as he dies, he is left to do so alone on the cross, and we are witnessing not some glorious martyrdom but a senseless death.

19. Jordan Belfort has lunch with Mark Hanna – from The Wolf of Wall Street, directed by Martin Scorsese

Matthew McConaughey won his Oscar in this year for Dallas Buyers Club, beating out scene partner Leonardo DiCaprio for the prize. Many saw that as the culmination of the McConaissance, but I actually think peak McConaughey is right here, sipping martinis and beating a drum on his chest. Mark Hanna is the macho ‘80s stereotype Jordan Belfort has modeled himself after, and he lays out the entire scam of the machine. As long as he is getting paid, getting drunk, and getting off, nothing else matters. We are watching a snake oil salesman explain his craft, and in so doing, we see why it works. Jordan is hooked, and so are we.

18. W’Kabi kneels to Okoye on the battlefield – from Black Panther, directed by Ryan Coogler

Apart from Michael B. Jordan’s Killmonger, the most memorable character in Black Panther is Okoye, played by Danai Gurira. She is a fierce warrior, loyal to her nation, and torn between honor and duty. Her arc reaches its glorious climax when she must face down her love, W’Kabi (Daniel Kaluuya), on the battlefield. When she chooses Wakanda over him, he realizes that this civil war is destroying them and their people, and he knees to her. In this moment, Coogler is paying tribute to the power and resilience of black women while also condemning the kind of internecine conflicts that distract from pursuing meaningful change.

17. Captain Phillips receives a medical evaluation – from Captain Phillips, directed by Paul Greengrass

Greengrass is an expert at crafting tense thrill rides that never let up for a moment. See United 93 and his Bourne films for further evidence. These movies, Captain Phillips included, so rarely afford the viewer a chance to breathe. This is their defining quality. So, when Captain Richard Phillips’ (Tom Hanks) ordeal is over and he is given a second to reflect, the audience is taken aback. We are shocked by his vulnerability, his pain, his sadness, and ultimately, his relief. The steely, resolute man who had been so strong throughout all of this finally breaks down, and we see the real person underneath, the person who could be any of us in both courage and fear.

16. “The incident” goes down – from I, Tonya, directed by Craig Gillespie

“This is what you all came to see!” Tonya Harding (Margot Robbie) snarls, and we are indicted. Gillespie pieces together the maiming of Nancy Kerrigan with precision and skill, expertly building up tension until the moment the knee buckles. It all works brilliantly, but it is undeniably voyeuristic. What in us compels us to watch this? Why do we need to see poor Nancy beaten and broken? What the hell is wrong with us? By asking these questions, the film is already miles ahead of us in the audience. Tonya is right. This is what we wanted, and that says more about us than it does about Tonya Harding.

15. The band records “Please, Mr. Kennedy” – from Inside Llewyn Davis, directed by Joel and Ethan Coen

This is when it all goes wrong for Llewyn (Oscar Isaac). Yes, the song is uproariously funny, and performers Isaac, Justin Timberlake, and Adam Driver commit to its goofiness. Driver’s deepthroated “uh-oh,” Timberlake’s guileless enthusiasm, and Isaac’s weary skepticism come together in a hilarious sequence that displays the absurdity of the business they have all chosen. When the gut punch comes at the end, no one knows that is what it is until much later, but when we do, the irony is almost unbearable. This is every bad decision Llewyn has made coming back to bite him, the greatest near-miss of his life, and it is all his own damn fault.

14. Eliza and the Amphibian Man dance – from The Shape of Water, directed by Guillermo del Toro

Bear with me a moment. I liked La La Land fine. It had some lovely sequences, including the dance in the observatory among the stars, featuring two of the most attractive movie stars on the planet. This ain’t that. This is a deaf-mute woman (Sally Hawkins) and an Amphibian Man (Doug Jones) re-enacting their version of a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance number. In making these his heroes, del Toro crafts a tribute to all those outsiders and weirdos, himself among them, who may never defy gravity like some of the pretty people but who dream of a transcendence made in their own image.

13. A woman cries in the rain – from Foxtrot, directed by Samuel Maoz

Rutger Hauer, who died in 2019, is responsible for delivering into the lexicon the line “tears in rain.” The very idea is arresting, so simple but so powerful, and demonstrated so movingly here by Maoz. At an army checkpoint, Israeli soldiers get their kicks harassing the Palestinians trying to get through, trying only to live their lives. The cruelty is the point. When a well-dressed man and woman arrive, apparently on their way to a function, they are forced into the pouring rain, humiliated for no reason other than being who they are. She fights back tears, but they fall anyway, and in the deluge, we feel a world weeping for this pain but doing nothing to stop it.

12. Juan teaches Little how to swim – from Moonlight, directed by Barry Jenkins

For two brief, fleeting minutes, the weight of the world is lifted from Little’s (Alex R. Hibbert) shoulders and he is weightless. The film’s defining image is that of Juan (Mahershala Ali) cradling Little’s head as he helps him to float in the ocean. Though waves crash down around them and on them, Juan assures Little he will not let go, and Little is supported. He is held. He is lifted up for perhaps the first time in his life. Things will not be this good, this free, again for a long time, and as Jenkins’ final shot shows us, Chiron will have spent his whole life trying to rediscover what he felt at this moment.

11. Patsey is flogged – from 12 Years a Slave, directed by Steve McQueen

Filled with sequences of unhinged brutality and dreadful torture, McQueen’s masterpiece reaches its moment of greatest horror when Solomon (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is forced to whip Patsey (Lupita Nyong’o) by Epps (Michael Fassbender). Patsey’s cries are what we remember as the blood and flesh spray from her back, but it is not only the pain of slavery we are witnessing but also the impotence and cowardice of those who uphold its virtues. They are weak, hateful, and malevolent, driven by a need to destroy what they see as strength in others. Patsey cannot demand to be clean. Solomon cannot demand mercy. Demands require power, and as McQueen demonstrates, they have none.

10. Aron Ralston cuts himself loose – from 127 Hours, directed by Danny Boyle

Not since the reverse vibraphone at the end of Taxi Driver has a musical sting stuck with me so long and so vividly as the moment Aron Ralston first hits the nerves in his arm. The entire sequence is a transcendent blend of Boyle’s high-octane editing style, A.R. Rahman’s propulsive score, and James Franco’s understated performance. The stakes are life and death, and we feel every second tick by as Aron battles for his future. Of course, it is a difficult sit and not for the squeamish, but the payoff is so magnificently played by all involved that I could watch it over and over again.

9. The raid on Osama bin Laden’s compound – from Zero Dark Thirty, directed by Kathryn Bigelow

Bigelow’s Oscar-winning epic was controversial when it debuted and has only grown more so over the years. The filmmaker likely inflated the role of prisoner torture in finding and killing Osama bin Laden, and that inflation has had real-world consequences. That is the film’s first two hours. Its final half-hour, however, is a tense, moody, boots-on-the-ground depiction of the raid on bin Laden’s compound. The precision and competence of the Navy SEALs is impressive and exciting to watch, but we are always ill at ease as we realize just how easy it is to kill a man, and we grapple with just what that death means.

8. The Edmund Pettis Bridge sequence – from Selma, directed by Ava DuVernay

We go here from the cold calculation of Kathryn Bigelow’s Navy SEALs to the unsettling chaos of an attack on civil rights marchers in the south. What guts and brilliance from DuVernay to stick a miniature war film right in the middle of her historical drama. The first march on Selma is a masterclass in putting the viewer in the middle of a battle, demonstrating the brutality of the racist forces of oppression without exaggeration or embellishment. DuVernay puts the camera on the ground and makes the audience a part of the struggle, ensuring each blow of a billy club is felt and each drop of blood is remembered.

7. Moana sings “How Far I’ll Go” – from Moana, directed by Ron Clements and John Musker

“How Far I’ll Go” is the movie song of the decade. I will hear no other arguments. There were bigger hits (“Let It Go,” “Happy,” “Skyfall”) and songs more integral to their films (“Feels Like Summer,” “Everything Is Awesome”), but there was no other song in the 2010s that demonstrated so succinctly the greatness of the film in which it appears. Auli’i Cravalho’s performance of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s glorious show-stopper is evidenced of what family films can do at their best. It lifts the spirit and empowers the soul, urging all listeners, young and old, of any race or class, to wonder … well, you know.

6. Lancaster Dodd interrogates Freddie Quell – from The Master, directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

I wrote previously in this series of the performances by Philip Seymour Hoffman as Lancaster Dodd and Joaquin Phoenix as Freddie Quell. I called them the two best performances of the decade. This scene contains within it all the proof I could ever need. What starts almost as an acting class exercise in repetition becomes something else entirely as the Master tries to break through to this seemingly unknowable beast before him. In so doing, they form a bond that is unlike any we have seen in cinema before. It is deep, it is troubling, and it is fascinating. These are two performers absolutely demanding each other’s and our attention, and they are getting it.

5. Jeannine sees her portrait on her home – from Faces Places, directed by Agnès Varda and J.R.

Varda died near the start of 2019 at the age of 90. Right up to the end, she continued making tremendous works of art, filled with the kind of empathy for which she was so rightly celebrated. The penultimate work of her career, Faces Places, is empathy writ large, literally, as she and co-director J.R. go around the countryside putting up giant portraits of the people they meet. It is the first portrait, however, that sticks in mind the longest, the lone woman in an abandoned neighborhood, Jeannine. She is a quiet revolutionary, battling back against a world that would just as soon forget her. Varda and J.R. ensure that will not happen.

4. The history of the universe sequence – from The Tree of Life, directed by Terrence Malick

Even at its most direct, The Tree of Life is an impressionistic collage of memories and free-floating ideas. Then, for one glorious sequence, Malick goes full-on expressionist, showing us the violent, fiery, yet ultimately empty history of the universe from moment one. It is gorgeously shot and exquisitely executed, but it is not just aimless wandering through the galaxy. It is a history of life, which is itself a history of cruelty. Malick takes us beyond our little lives and the lives of his characters, and their petty grievances, to show us just how small we are and just how much of what we are has been there from the beginning.

3. Jack Mulligan gets a ride home – from Widows, directed by Steve McQueen

The single take has been around for years but really exploded this decade with directors like Alfonso Cuarón and Alejandro G. Iñárritu, along with cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, essentially making it their calling card. But the best single take of the 2010s was also the most subtle, with McQueen telling the entire tale of inequity and corruption in Chicago during a single car ride home. As the camera slowly pans across the hood of the car, we see wealth and poor side by side, a juxtaposition that helps us understand just how far apart the rich and the poor truly are.

2. Sharon Tate goes to the movies – from Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood, directed by Quentin Tarantino

I had never cried during a Tarantino movie. Never really even felt teary. That is not the wavelength on which his films operate. But when Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), whose fate we know so well, goes to the theater to see one of her own movies, that’s when the director finally got me misty-eyed. All of Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood feels like an elegy to a time long since passed. Tate has become emblematic of that – her murder for many symbolizing the end of the ‘60s dream. Her joy in seeing herself on screen reverses this, turning her from a symbol back into the living, breathing, joyous human being she was. If only for a moment.

1. Frances runs through the city – from Frances Ha, directed by Noah Baumbach

When the beat kicks in, all you can do is dance. Greta Gerwig’s Frances Hawthorne is a dancer, anyway, and so she must do more. She runs. As David Bowie’s “Modern Love” blares on the soundtrack, she runs. As New York City goes about its day, she runs. Her sprint down the sidewalks of the city is boundless, inexhaustible, unfettered joy, exploding out in every direction at once. She spins and leaps and, yes, dances through the streets with the exuberance of youth and the seeming knowledge that maybe it will not last forever, but it surely exists right here and right now. So, let’s dance.

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Check back again as we wrap up the Best of the Decade project with some fun ephemera and the Top 20 Films of the 2010s.

Taxi Driver Week: Five best New York films of the new century

Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver is the definitive portrait of New York City at its lowest point.

Welcome to Taxi Driver Week at Last Cinema Standing, a week-long celebration of Martin Scorsese's bruising, beautiful modern classic in honor of the film's 40th anniversary and a special screening as part of the Tribeca Film Festival.

Two films defined the highs and lows of New York City in the 20th century. Woody Allen’s Manhattan is the black-and-white postcard image of the city. It is a gorgeous love letter filled with romantic overtures and nostalgic glimpses at a past long since gone but still informing our feelings about the world it depicts. Its upper-crust characters stroll through Central Park at night, visit soda fountains, and go to museums. The wealthy and their romantic foibles are the film’s chief concerns, but the city always buzzes with life and energy in the background.

Taxi Driver resides on the other side of the street – the dream that became a nightmare. It is the dirt and grime and hate and ugliness of a world teetering on the brink of destruction. Martin Scorsese films on the same streets Allen did, but Scorsese litters his sidewalks with trash, shows steam pouring out of every sewer grate, and envisions a city slowly circling the drain. It is an angry mess, overflowing with blood and bile. It is barely habitable. It is hell, as Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) says.

For better or worse, Manhattan and Taxi Driver are the definitive portraits of that era in New York’s history, but as with all such things, time marches on, and the city has moved beyond both depictions. The city is now high finance and culture war, gentrification and class divide, Disneyland and cemetery. As such, it seems only right to look to the new century for films to define what it is to live in New York City today. In 100 years, audiences could look back on any of these five films and understand what it once meant to be in New York.

25th Hour (directed by Spike Lee; 2002)

Barry Pepper and Phillip Seymour Hoffman in 25th Hour

The only one of these films to deal directly with 9/11 (though The Visitor could only be set in a post-9/11 world), 25th Hour bravely explores the stain left on an entire city’s soul. Like Scorsese and Allen, Lee is a quintessential New York filmmaker, and it is fitting he has made perhaps the best film about living in New York City in the aftermath of one of the greatest tragedies in American history.

Adapted by Game of Thrones creator David Benioff from his own novel, the screenplay digs deep below the surface of a city in mourning and unearths the kind of pain that flags and bumper stickers and slogans cannot mask. The story revolves around Monty (the excellent Edward Norton) on his last day of freedom before a long prison sentence. To view the city through the eyes of someone who will not see it again until he is an old man is to see it anew. The sights, sounds, and emotions blend together, and the city becomes one magnificent blur.

Even now, nearly 15 years since 9/11, the city still carries those wounds right there on the surface, and the sensory overload Monty experiences has only become more pronounced. The film argues there is no one you can really trust, but if you are going to make it in this life in this city, you have to rely on someone, otherwise you will be swallowed whole.

Chop Shop (directed by Ramin Bahrani; 2007)

Alejandro Polanco in Chop Shop

By the late Roger Ebert’s favorite young director, this was Ebert’s favorite film by Bahrani, and it is easy to see why. All of Bahrani’s films are stories of American lives and what it means to exist on the fringes of the American Dream. No city represents the American Dream more than New York, whose fringes are overflowing with the forgotten, the discarded, and the disillusioned.

Ale is an orphan living with his older sister above an auto-repair shop. They both scrape together any money they can any way they can, mostly through petty crimes. They scrimp and save, get knocked down and get back up, and their only goal is to buy a van they can turn into a food truck. Like everybody else who comes to this city, they just want to make their own way, but fortunes are fickle, and there is no prize for hard work but more work. The city is tough, and so must they be, no matter what stands in their way.

The Visitor (directed by Tom McCarthy; 2008)

Richard Jenkins and Hiam Abbass in The Visitor

Multicultural is a mostly meaningless word now. Where once homogeny was the rule, it is now the exception, and multicultural life is a given. That does not make it any easier for those unwilling to accept the new paradigm. However, for those willing to explore the worlds of others and embrace the melting pot, life becomes a rich tapestry of new experiences and joys. That is the truth at the heart of New York City and the core of Oscar-winning writer-director McCarthy’s superb film.

Walter (Richard Jenkins) is a lonely college professor who returns to his Manhattan apartment to find a pair of illegal immigrants squatting there, though they believed they were renting it legitimately. Of course, Walter has every right to call the authorities or throw them to the curb, but he does not. Instead, he invites them to stay, and in so doing, he drives the loneliness out of his own life and enriches his view of the world.

McCarthy’s script smartly focuses on the small indignities visited upon immigrants trying to eke out a meager existence and the post-9/11 suspicions used to divide people into categories of us and them. The Visitor points the way forward for all of us. We can either push people away based on race, religion, or whatever factor we choose and live out our miserable, lonely lives, or we can embrace change and accept the vibrancy of this world as a wonderful reality.

Shame (directed by Steve McQueen; 2011)

Michael Fassbender in Shame

For those unable or unwilling to reach out, loneliness, isolation, and alienation are facts of life. All the money, power, and beauty in the world cannot make you happy if unhappiness is at the core of your being. Featuring knockout performances by Michael Fassbender and Carey Mulligan and gorgeous direction by McQueen, Shame is a dark, despairing journey through the life of a man whose dissatisfaction and disaffection spring from wells running deep inside him. He spends every second of the day numbing the pain, but all that leaves him is numb.

Brandon (Fassbender) works in high finance, he lives in an impossibly opulent loft, and he is a sex addict. His sister, Sissy (Mulligan), has her own set of vaguely defined but deeply felt sexual issues. Together, they spiral into desperation and heartache. They are broken people, but as Sissy says to Brandon, that does not make them bad people. The city acts as an amplifier for their vices and allows them to indulge in all manner of self-destruction, but it also creates more noise, drowning out their cries for help.

It is a bleak but accurate depiction of life on this island. It is all too easy to push away those who love us and choose those who do not know us. If we refuse to let people get close, they cannot touch us, but that distance, that space between, leaves its own marks. The hardest part of living in New York City is letting yourself care, letting people in, and letting yourself be open to others. It is a lesson we all must learn at some point, whether or not we are willing to listen.

Frances Ha (directed by Noah Baumbach; 2013)

Greta Gerwig in Frances Ha

Every film on this list features a fairly low-concept premise. They are not overly clever or precious stories. They are not needlessly labyrinthine, nor do they seek to wow you with flash or grandeur. They are stories of real people from across the spectrum of human experience. Perhaps Baumbach and co-writer-star Greta Gerwig’s film speaks to me most because it most closely resembles my experience, if not in the details, then in the feeling.

During the events of the film, Frances (Gerwig) is the age I am now. She has the following conversation with her friend, Benji:

Frances: Do I look old to you?

Benji: No … Yes.

Frances: How old?

Benji: Older than I am.

Frances: Older than 27?

Benji: No. Twenty-seven is old though.

That brief exchange is possibly the best summation of how I feel every day. I do not feel very old – nor very accomplished – but my perception of where I am in life changes with every passing minute. Frances struggles for everything she gets, but at the beginning of the film, she sets her sights so low, the struggle is not worth it. New York City is a beautiful place for exploring who you are and who you want to be, but as Frances learns, it is not enough to figure out who you are. You have to want to be something more. That makes the struggle worth it. That makes New York City worth it.

New movie review: While We’re Young

Naomi Watts and Ben Stiller play a middle-aged married couple in Noah Baumbach's While We're Young.

In each stage of adult life, it seems we must pose ourselves a question. Early on, it is: What am I supposed to do? Then, it becomes: What am I going to do? That is followed by: What am I am doing? Finally, for all of us, it ends with: What have I done? The progression is as natural as the life cycle of a salmon, and every one of us is swimming upstream in search of the answers.

The opening moments of While We’re Young depict a middle-aged married couple completely baffled by taking care of a newborn baby. The woman begins to tell a fairytale, which seems to soothe the child, but as she forgets the basic details of the story, the happy, familial narrative falls apart, as does she when the child starts to cry. The husband is at a loss and has no help to offer. Then, the child’s actual parents come running in, and the stage is set for the couple’s joint midlife crisis.

Writer-director Noah Baumbach has always specialized in upper-middle-class angst in such films as The Squid and the Whale, Margot at the Wedding, and Greenberg. His last film, Frances Ha, was a marked departure, full of youthful energy and refreshing joie de vivre. In While We’re Young, Baumbach tries to blend the two approaches, but it becomes pretty apparent where his sympathies lie.

The ever-versatile Naomi Watts joins a toned down Ben Stiller as Cornelia and Josh, a childless couple whose friends all seem to have moved on to the child-rearing phase of life and left them behind. It is as relatable a concept as Baumbach has yet tried, and Watts and Stiller find a neat balance of hurt and self-delusion in their characterizations.

After realizing they are not on the same wavelength as their friends who are new parents, they return home and discuss how happy they are with their lives and how, without children, they are free to pick up and leave on a European vacation any time they please. Well, they would obviously need time to plan, they reason, and of course, they have not traveled anywhere in eight years, but the point is that any time they want to go, they can. Nothing is tying them down.

In truth, they are deep in denial. Maybe they do want a child. They have tried before, and Cornelia miscarried. She is unwilling to go through that experience again. At the same time, Josh is a documentary filmmaker who showed promise when he was young but has spent the last 10 years working on the follow-up to his first movie. Just as they begin to face some hard questions about their lives – namely: What am I doing? (see above) – something comes along to distract them.

The distraction is another couple, Jamie and Darby, played by Adam Driver (Girls, Tracks) and Amanda Seyfried (Chloe). They are young, wild, and full of life in all the ways Cornelia and Josh are not. For Cornelia, they represent an attractive alternative to her middle-aged friends’ baby talk and, in a standout sequence, their mommy-and-me-type music classes. For Josh, it is something much more specific. In Jamie, a budding documentarian himself, Josh sees all the potential he never fulfilled.

So, Josh and Cornelia revert to the extended adolescence embodied by the younger couple, and they spend their time doing drugs, going to parties, and eating homemade ice cream. Josh marvels at how these kids are constantly creating things, an impressive feat to a man who has spent a decade working on a single film. What no one ever stops to ask is whether the things they create – art, film, ice cream, etc. – have value.

This question, perhaps more than any other, will be key to understanding the current generation of 20-somethings, who are all asking themselves what they are supposed to do and what they are going to do, and Baumbach puts it right at the heart of his movie. Due to the unprecedented economic successes of their parents and grandparents, those people just becoming adults now have more opportunities and options for how to spend their lives than any previous generation in history. They will be defined by how they waste or embrace those chances.

At about the midway point of the film, Baumbach and editor Jennifer Lame piece together a brilliant montage of the two couples going about their separate lives. Jamie and Darby listen to classical music on vinyl records and watch VHS copies of crummy ‘50s sci-fi movies, while Josh watches The Daily Show on his phone, and Cornelia listens to pop music on Spotify and plays games on her iPad. The joke is that young people like old things. We might call them hipsters, but the implications are far more insidious than that.

I think we are at a point in our shared cultural dialogue where we can admit a few things. Vinyl records are cumbersome and limiting. VHS tapes have terrible picture quality. New music is fine, and cell phones have broadened the possibilities of communication beyond anything we ever thought possible. By not embracing new technology, Jamie and Darby – and the segment of their generation they represent – are effectively rejecting the opportunities progress affords them.

Early in their friendship, the four of them are having a discussion when one of them brings up a snack they all love but to which they cannot recall one of the key ingredients. They try to remember for a moment, then Josh goes to his phone to check online. He is stopped by Jamie, who says, “Let’s just not know.” He then sits back and smiles. It is a clear renunciation of the Information Age. Just about anything one could want to learn is at his fingertips, but Jamie would rather not know.

The film is not an indictment of either couple as Baumbach has never made a movie that simplistic. Instead, it is a contrast of the ways people from different generations approach their lives. There is a happy medium between analyzing our lives to the point of tedium and shutting out reality to the point of ignorance. As Josh and Cornelia work toward that medium and Jamie and Darby resist it, the point becomes clear. Asking questions is great while we are young, but as we get older, it becomes equally important to find the answers.

See it? Yes.