There's such an amazing thing that happens when the real world filters through a lens to land on a thin layer of silver halide granules at twenty-four frames a second. A series of tiny distortions, layered one atop another that transmogrify a real thing until it is a magical thing.
A sentimental thing.
Like how snow flurries over Manhattan seem to saunter among the pedestrians and waltz across the frame, as if they were a character unto themselves. A choreographed ballet of particulate water crystals that enchant the landscape, transforming simple stories into fairy tales.
Cinematographers seem to skillfully avoid the slips and falls, the fender-benders, the frozen vomit and the steaming turds.
