Suburban movies capture dull mundane scenes, intertwined with the unexplained paranoia and angst that is not pictured, but rather felt. The evocative, raw expression of human behavior we watch and harmoniously experience watching suburban films is an un-debatable proof of the cinematic brilliance of the simplistic, humane aspects of suburbia.

Watching suburbia, we often encounter feelings of sentimentality, which are not feelings of sentimentality but rather recognition. Because suburbia is the dullest street in the neighborhood, and the most iconic one on a screen. When you look at a still and realize how yellow the trash can is, or when you notice the non-Wes Anderson-esque color scheme of the pink tinted sky and the brilliant green grass, and of course, the yellow trash can. You notice all the corners of the still, the schemes, the aesthetics. Then, you recognize that it's similar to what you cross by everyday. You haven't recognized it before because it's too dull and ordinary. But now it's the background of a tense scene where a wine bottle was smashed and the brilliant green grass is filled with shattered glass. Then it's the background of two middle schoolers drawing out their post-school lives, eating an entire box of Roll-ups. The question then lies in how can a scene so mundane be artistic? At that, we are hit by the epiphany that founded Suburbia, the perceptive revolution that recognized Suburbia as a form of art and appreciated the transparency and rawness of daily life over films made with the help of Christopher Nolan and the special effects department.

Then you wonder again, why haven't we appreciated the still before? Why haven't we appreciated the yellow trash can, the pointless conversations, the flickering drive-thru red neon sign, the fading sound of music, and the echo green color of traffic lights if we pass by them everyday? It's because we're in a rush. We're always in a rush.