There are moments when a film doesn’t just roll past your eyes. It moves deeply through your bloodstream and permanently rearranges something in your soul. For me, those moments happened on dimly lit Saturday evenings at Cadet College Hasan Abdal. My boarding school had a simple tradition: one movie night each week. One projector, one common hall and one student body clicking their votes into a Google Form. Most didn’t bother voting; maybe that’s why we occasionally watched complete duds. But every now and then, when the stars aligned and the votes had intention, we stumbled upon cinematic brilliance.

Some of those screenings changed me — not just my tastes, but my questions, my ambitions and my very outlook on time, identity and freedom. This isn’t a review. It’s a personal tribute to the movies that rewired my soul.

“The Imitation Game” (2014)

One of the earliest movies that stayed with me was “The Imitation Game” (2014), a film that taught me the quiet power of legacy over likeability. I don’t remember exactly when I first watched it, but I’ve returned to it at least three times since. Alan Turing’s story didn’t just sit with me; it followed me. I saw pieces of myself in the way he worked: misunderstood, intense and unsatisfied with surface-level answers. What struck me most wasn’t just his genius, but his persistence. He was ridiculed, isolated, doubted — and yet, he kept going. He didn’t demand their approval; he earned their respect. The August before starting at Vanderbilt, I found myself walking through Bletchley Park in Milton Keynes — the very place where Turing and his team cracked the Enigma code — and I felt the history in my bones. This man, once dismissed and tormented, helped shorten a world war. What could be more meaningful than that?

“In Time” (2011)

Then one night, the projector flickered to life, and “In Time” (2011) hit the screen. I hadn’t expected much. Justin Timberlake in a dystopia where people pay for things in minutes? But before long, the film had altered my brain chemistry. This wasn’t just a flashy sci-fi flick. It was a full-body metaphor. Here, time was money in the most literal sense. Quantifiable. Transferable. The wealthy lived forever. The poor died young. Watching the story unfold forced me to reconsider everything I thought I knew about how we spend our lives. It was like watching urgency itself come alive. I started asking myself: Who’s hoarding time in the real world? Who’s bleeding it away without knowing? And if I could think of time as something spendable, how differently would I live?

“The Man Who Knew Infinity” (2015)

That question of value — how we see ourselves and what we dedicate our lives to — came roaring back a few weeks ago when I finally sat down to watch “The Man Who Knew Infinity” (2015). I’d been meaning to see it for years, but life kept getting in the way. This time, I chipped away at it slowly, over three days, stopping and starting through classes, meals and exhaustion, and I’m so grateful I finished it. Watching Srinivasa Ramanujan’s journey unfold was both infuriating and awe-inspiring. A self-taught mathematician from Madras — then still under British colonial rule — Ramanujan stood his ground in the face of Cambridge’s most elite and skeptical minds. His genius was radiant, but his humanity even more so. The way British academics questioned his worth, not because of his theorems, but because of his skin, his accent, his background. It made my blood boil. And yet, figures like Hardy and Littlewood chose courage over comfort; they mentored, defended and uplifted him. By the end, Ramanujan had not only revolutionized mathematics, but he had carved his name into the Royal Society. This film is more than a biopic. It’s “genius against the odds” and a reminder that brilliance doesn’t need permission, it just needs space.

“The Shawshank Redemption” (1994)

And then, of course, there’s the movie people love to roll their eyes at –– only because it’s become too beloved –– but I’ll defend “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994) every time. I’ve seen it four times now, and each time, it feels like walking out of a tunnel into light. What makes it unforgettable isn’t just the plot twist or the prison break, it’s the slow burn of quiet endurance. It’s Andy Dufresne, played with haunting elegance, carving through stone with patience, leaving not just a wall behind but a dent in a corrupt warden’s bank account and ego. It’s Morgan Freeman narrating the kind of hope that doesn’t shout, but survives. This film reminded me that “freedom is a state of mind.” In a world that often feels like a system stacked against us, that message matters.

Lately, I’ll admit, I haven’t kept up with films the way I used to. The grind and noise of life at Vanderbilt has a way of swallowing your downtime in scrolls and reels—short bursts of stimulation that rarely leave anything behind. It’s easier to consume than to sit, to scroll than to feel. But I’m hoping to change that this summer. I miss the emotional weight, the stillness, the silence that says more than dialogue ever could. 

And if there’s one thing I’d urge every Vanderbilt student to do, it’s this: reclaim the ritual. Watch movies; really watch them. Watch with friends, with family, with people you care about or want to understand better. Movies aren’t just distractions. They’re bonding agents and emotional blueprints. 

So find the ones that speak to you, not just the critically acclaimed or algorithm-approved, but the films that quietly reroute your thoughts and find you when you need them most. For me, movies have never just passed time. They’ve made me feel it. They help me slow down, reflect and return to life with sharper eyes and a fuller heart.

Some films don’t end when the credits roll. They stay with you — change you.

This summer, I’m ready for more of those.