I looked at the date on my phone and realized it would soon be the first day of my daughter’s seventh year of life. I decided to take a break from the analysis of film and do what I always do, which is write her a letter (an email, in fact) describing my perception of who she is at this particular point in time. It’s usually a reflection, and it is again, of the things that are special and which I appreciate about her. That took the three hours that I would have written about Taxi Driver (1976) or The Cotton Club (1984). I’m not complaining, just saying. It was essential to the legacy of a couple of dozen emails I will write/have written (to an email address I created the week she was born) which she can read when she turns fifteen.