Making friends with my demons

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Smoking Demon by Mia Makila, 2006 (acrylic on canvas)

Part of my self-acceptance process is to find a way to make friends with my demons. To accept them rather than trying to eliminate them (that’s not possible anyway). I’m also dealing with this process in a secret writing project. Once again, my creativity is helping me get through something difficult and powerful. I am so grateful. I am also painting and trying not to judge the results. My new attitude is that everything I produce has some good in it. And why aim for making a masterpiece or the ‘best painting I’ve ever done’ – why put so much pressure on myself? It’s crazy. However a painting turns out – it’s good enough – and I am good enough. I don’t have to be more than that. I guess this means that I am making friends with my “good girl” demon. I know why she’s like that, why she’s looking for perfection and where she is coming from. It’s the classic “good girl” complex from childhood family patterns.

me with a little tent that I loved to decorate

Me with a little play tent that I loved to decorate

I’ve been feeling responsible for other people’s happiness and  looking for their approval all my life. To satisfy their need to feel safe or seen and to make them feel connected to things. I guess that behavior has spilled over into my art as well, trying to satisfy my audience. I’ve been writing about this before. I only need to satisfy myself and to enjoy myself while painting. I don’t need to be or to do more than that. It’s such a simple equation but for me it’s very difficult to change this behavior that’s been so ingrained in my way of thinking and being. But I am doing my best.

I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I keep waking up with anxiety and I’ve started to grind my teeth in my sleep. I’m waking up in the morning, all tense and tired. I hope I can find a job soon, it’s not good for me to be alone like this, all days and nights. I miss Johnny so terribly. It feels so unnatural to have your love living a separate life on the other side of the world.  As soon as I’ll get an income we will start the process with the migration board. Can’t wait.

Making friends with my demons – with my anxiety and fear, is not easy. But I can’t have them as my enemies anymore, or they’ll kill me (probably in my sleep).

“The Fourth Eye”

"The Fourth Eye" by Mia Makila, 2015 [digital]

“The Fourth Eye” by Mia Makila, 2015 [digital]

It’s the year of the fool
no sun is laughing
in the  hotel of traveling lies.

I’m breastfeeding the beast within
screaming

while you cum inside another watermelon.

MM – 15

“I am proud that you yelled at me when you are angry. I am happy when you say no when I ask if I can pee in your mouth. I love when you ask me to finger fuck a watermelon because they are expressions of your true voice and that is Mia.” 

– what someone wrote to me in 2015 and it inspired the poem above that inspired the digital piece.

And also this:

His Wet Dream (acrylic on wooden panel)

His Wet Dream (acrylic on wooden panel)

Det är trendigt att hata

Det är en skrämmande tid vi just nu skapar tillsammans i världen. Så full av mörker, förakt och hat. Toleransnivån för det främmande och annorlunda är nu lika låg som argumenten är vaga för att försvara de beteenden som följer. Det är som om vi förvandlat världen till Tolkiens svarta rike Mordor (ur Sagan om ringen). Va fan gör vi här?

Hatet läcker ut överallt. Ur nättrollens snabba slag på tangentbordet. Ut på asfalten som definierar hagen där vi rastar våra barn – skolgården. Ur kaffemuggen under eftermiddagsfikat. Ur fördomar och intolerans som föds någonstans mellan vår frustration och likgiltighet. Ur rädslan för att förlora det vi tror vi har. För det vi tror vi är. Och för det vi tror vi inte är.

Hatet rinner ut ur våra hjärtan som en svart och geggig massa av destruktiv energi – en energi som vill förminska, förstöra och förgöra. Hatet vill ha vedergällning. Det vill bestraffa. Håna. Förödmjuka. Nästan till vilket pris som helst. Det som får oss att hata ska bort. Kanske bort från dess nuvarande och hotfulla position, men inte bort från vårt synfält. Vi älskar att ha vårt hatobjekt nära. Så att vi kan känna den där svarta energin pumpa genom oss när det omvandlas till adrenalin. Det är belöningen. Att känna ruset av rättfärdighet. En samhörighet med det som vi upplever är sant och riktigt. Ruset av att dominera verkligheten. Sanningen. Och balansen mellan det som får råda och det som måste förintas för att upprätthålla vår illusion av att befinna oss i ett övre skikt av mänskligheten.. Att ha rätt. Att vara bäst. Störst. Vackrast. Smartast. Whatever.

Det är trendigt att hata. Det är coolt att inte bry sig. Att vara anonym eller gömma sig bakom rättfärdigheten och kunna göra vad man vill utan att möta konsekvenser. Ascoolt.

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Det blir så tydligt när man tittar på den politiska utvecklingen som nu sker, lite överallt i världen. Det hatas till både höger och vänster. Både politiska partier och ledare växer upp som svampar ur hatträsket och förkroppsligar vår världs intolerans och förakt. Hela den amerikanska valdebatten genomsyras av hat, förakt och en känsla att kunna förminska, förstöra och förgöra utan att bry sig om vilka konsekvenser det får – eller vilka signaler det förmedlar till omvärlden. “Du bär på ett oerhört hat i ditt hjärta”, sa Donald Trump till sin politiska motståndare Hillary Clinton i den andra valdebatten som ägde rum i St. Louis i Söndags. Kanske en projektion av det hat som Trump själv bär på, i sitt eget hjärta. Att projicera hat på ‘den andre’ är det mest effektiva sättet att skaka av sig ansvar, skuld och istället känna att man har rätt att hata, att det är viktigt och gör nytta. Att man för en kamp mot orättvisan. Det som stör. Det som ska bort. Så att det blir nån jävla ordning på saker och ting. Ingen vill ha kaos och hatet är enklaste vägen till att rensa och utrota varje hot mot det inre lugnet. Hotet mot den sanna ordningen. Eller den rätta åsikten, livsstilen, smaken eller vad man nu tycker stör ens sinnesro.

Det är trendigt att hata för alla andra gör ju det. Man hatar en kändis. En musiksmak. En person man känner. Chefen. Grannen. En familjemedlem. En tiggare utanför ICA. Män som hatar kvinnor. Kvinnor som hatar män. Muslimer som hatar kristna. Kristna som hatar muslimer. Det är väl OK. Vem bryr sig om jag känner lite hat, kolla bara på vad det står i trådarna på Flashback, i kommentarsfältet på YouTube, på en blogg eller på Facebook, sådär är inte jag. Jag hatar bara lite grann. Jag hatar bara lite pittoreskt, som en krydda i tillvaron ungefär. Mitt hat gör varken till eller från, det vet jag, men det piggar upp när jag har trist. Då tänker jag på personen jag hatar och så känns allt lite bättre. Som att spänna musklerna fast i huvudet. Jag känner mig lite starkare, jag liksom sträcker på mig. Får en bättre hållning. Det ser jag i spegeln. Att hata skadar ju ingen, eller hur? Jag menar, mitt lilla minihat stör inte världsordningen. Tvärtom. Man måste välja sina battles. Det man tror på. Det är så man gör när man engagerar sig. Eller har jag fel?

Telia rider på hatvågen. Det blir lite meta – att HATA hat. Funkar så där.

Mia Makila – 2016

Thoughts through the autumn rain

It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon. The trees are colored in all the warm nuances I can think of. I’m feeling better but I’m still not well. I went to a massage place earlier this week and the masseuse told me my neck and my shoulders are tense and hard like concrete.  Of course they are, I’ve been going through many heavy things for a long period of time and I’ve been very inactive. It’s funny, I tried to take care of my body but got so worried and stressed that I made everything worse. I am so out of sync with myself. I am working so hard to overcome my fears that I forget about my body. I have only been connected between body-mind-soul for a year or so, I guess it will take some time to find a good balance. It was so much easier to live in the disconnection, because I could just go on neglecting one part of me or another without feeling the consequences. I often go back to read my therapy notes from the time where I began my process of reconnecting, it is a sad display of self-neglect and confusion: “Mind = truth, Heart = can not trust, Body = stranger”.

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Marianne

Marianne by Mia Makila. 2011 (acrylic on panel)

My body-mind disconnection is visible in my art as well, where the characters are missing limbs and have enlarged heads.

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I need to find a way to take care of every part of my existence; mind/body/heart/soul/core and celebrate the wonderful things they bring me. I have to live healthy in all parts. I want to liberate them from their old cages, chains and limitations. I will try to focus more on the good things. To be in the moment with my body, my mind and my soul. To laugh. Often. And loud. To be creative. Focused. Using uninhibited and unlimited imagination. I want to dance. Hard. Wildly. To feel the love I get. To feel it all the way. Deeper. To take longer walks. And meditate. To let go of negative energy. To shake it off.

Opening the black box

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Even though I woke up with anxiety, I also woke up with a assertiveness and will to go against it. This summer, I’ve been consumed with fear and worries and it has triggered some kind of meta anxiety (anxiety based on anxiety alone). It is not even real. And I need to open the black box that contains my fear to examine what they are all about so I can accept in – and finally let it go, before the anxiety takes over and I’ll end up in another depression. So, I have to do this.

I’ve already dissected my ‘ladder of anxiety’ that leads to fear and panic attacks. Since I’m highly intolerant to uncertainties and everything in my life right now is filled with uncertainties, any problem that brings another uncertainty will trigger the anxiety and I’ll keep climbing down the ladder:

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When I reach the level of anxiety, it all spirals down to panic pretty quickly, especially at the critical ‘point of no return’ when my mind has made up various future catastrophes in hopes of solving the gap, created by the threatening uncertainty. Since I am struggling with PTSD, my mind automatically goes to the worst case scenario because that has often been my reality. It once was a way to protect myself – a survival strategy, but now it doesn’t have any function and instead ruining any peace of mind.

I’ve been making a lot of research about anxiety and how to deal with it, the best strategies I’ve come across so far is learning how to deal with the worries and the nature of problem-solving/ accepting and letting go, and also becoming more tolerant to uncertainties. So I made a new ladder to see where exactly I should make a change:

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The trick is to stop the movement down the ladder at the second stage of worrying – instead of going to the next level where anxiety takes over, I have to be aware of my worries and pause – so I can ask myself “is there something I can do to fix this uncertainty?”, if there is something I can do I need to be better and more effective when it comes to solving problems, if there isn’t anything I can do, I need to accept it and let it go. Both ways will stop me from going down the ladder. I just need to celebrate the positive outcome and stop confirming the bad ones where I’m feeling like a victim (“bad things always happen to me”) and to trust myself to handle whatever crap that will come my way. I have survived many difficult things and I’ve always landed on my two feet.

I am stronger than any shit-storm.

2010

2010

And there really is something fundamentally important about the message in this silly song:

The toxic pessimism

My black box holds a lot of things, but they all have something in common and it’s whenever I start a sentence with:

  1. What if…
  2. I can’t…
  3. Bad things always happen to me, so…
  4. I’ve already tried it and it didn’t work, so…

My black box of fear is filled with negative assumptions and pessimistic expectations. This is a great list to remember and to exercise the awareness with. To be aware of one’s behavior is one step closer to actually changing it. Yep, I’m on my way. Instead of the toxic ‘what if’s I will try to ask myself ‘what is?’ – to stay in the moment instead of taking the mental highway straight to a future catastrophe.

The black box

All the Bears In My Garden

All the Bears In My Garden by Mia Makila, 2012

With my black box.

I’ve been thinking about this thing about being without a thinking box. I do HAVE a box (other than my own core). It is my fear. My black box. I’ve even put it into my work a few times. Every thought process is filtered through this box. Always. It’s what a trauma does to your mind after a long time of feeling unsafe and judged. I used to be scared of everything, but I’ve dealing with so many fears in therapy and in my art, I do feel I’ve overcome so much of it. But there is still a black box inside my mind. I think it contains residue form my trauma, but nothing more than that. There is no real substance to my fear anymore. It’s almost like a phantom fear – no longer real but still present.

I have already been writing so much about this fear. The fear of happiness. Love. Success. The world outside my own head. Life.

It’s a twisted fear, not about the dark but about the light.

2012

2012

I wonder what could erase this fear and eliminate the black box. I think I know the answer already. It’s trust. Faith. Acceptance. Peace of mind.

And I’m working hard to achieve all that. Perhaps I’ll always have a black box inside my head – maybe we all have one, but I want to make it shrink and empty the box as much as I can.

The box

The mysterious blue box in Lynch’s Mulholland Drive (2001)

I’m getting great professional guidance while looking for a job so I can finance my future art projects. It’s hard for me to find a job since I don’t have much work experience in the “real world”. I’ve worked in a few museums as a receptionist but that’s about it. Talking to various job coaches I’ve come to realize something interesting about myself. When it comes to “thinking outside the box”, I’ve never thought inside the box – and I don’t even have a box! I’ve never seen the box!  I’m utterly box-less! And this is the reason why it’s so very hard for me to find a job but also keeping a job.

To be without a box is what freedom is all about and something very positive to me. But it does cause problems when I’m supposed to function in the world outside myself. Society is all about inside-or-outside-the box thinking, but the is no room for a person like me who doesn’t understand the concept of either of them. I don’t know how to suddenly find a box so I can think inside or outside it – or how to use this box-less way of thinking as a resource in a work place instead of it being a shortcoming.

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As an artist, a life without the box is essential and necessary in order for the imagination to run free and wild. The only box I have and need, is my own core.

Perhaps I can create my own box or study the one most people seem to have a relationship to, so I can play by the rules of the real world. I don’t know if it’s possible or even a good idea, I just discovered this and I need to understand it more. I believe it’s a good thing to be box-less but it makes everything more complicated. I wish I knew where I belong in this world that’s full of unknown boxes and the different approaches and proximity to them. I wish it was easier for me to adjust to it all.

My sexy, sexy vulnerability

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Last week I watched Iliza Shlesinger’s latest stand up show “Confirmed Kills” on Netflix and she was making a lot of jokes about sexuality and male porn fixation that I found interesting rather than funny. Especially what she said about female vulnerability and how men only think they want strong and independent women but it’s the vulnerability they really want. Think about it. High heels. You can’t run in high heels. Makes him feel in control. Makes her vulnerable. A skinny body – now that’s just oozing vulnerability. Silly, stupid blondes – a vulnerability that makes men feel smarter and better about themselves; “please help me do this because I caaan’t!”, “please help me explain that because I don’t understaaand”. He’ll be happy to help her.

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My most vulnerable looks (2009-2010)

It’s a thing now days for young girls to PLAY stupid in front of boys. I’ve done it. I’ve lived in relationships where that role playing was the foundation of the attraction. This was of course my ‘Lolita’ curse, that I’m dealing with in my art right now.

It was partly my fault – I was looking for security and a authority figure because it was a familiar pattern from my childhood and I had no idea that I could be my own authority figure (my own Goddess). My need to feel comforted during the years with daily PTSD symptoms also played a big part in my Lolita role playing.

My vulnerability has been my most attractive quality – both in my art and writing but also when it comes to men. They have loved it. They couldn’t get enough of it. And their hunger for it almost destroyed me. It mostly attracted narcissistic men or men who wanted to feel powerful. I once had a brief online flirt with an English teacher from Baltimore. He was charming and showed himself vulnerable so he could get to mine. And he did. After a while he started to be cold, harsh and unreliable – and became very domineering. I ended it. After a year he showed up in my inbox with a link and said “I’ve found a girlfriend that I can be myself with and I’ve started living faithfully to who I am”. I didn’t understand what he meant, so I opened the link and it was a blog about their sado-masochistic adventures where he was the dominate partner and she was the submissive one. He had a talent for writing so he made their adventures into little short stories. I read a few. And I felt shocked. He described how he loved cutting her with razor blades while having sex and how she loved being cut, how she enjoyed being fucked while suffering from a stomach flu with a very high fever. It was all about her suffering and the empowerment of his ego. It was so sick. I felt nauseous.

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In one of the posts he described exactly how he got his victims. How he played vulnerable to get under their skin. How he played their vulnerability like a puppet master. I couldn’t believe it. That’s what he had been doing to me! He saw me as a potential victim, during our conversations. Gross.

It wasn’t until I met a similar guy online that I realize that I have to change my behavior in order to stop attracting these abusive men. I stopped being over-vulnerable and started to protect it. I will never stop being vulnerable in my work, but I don’t have to waste my vulnerability on strangers or people who doesn’t deserve it.

My vulnerability is one of my most precious qualities and it isn’t for other people to play around with so that they can feel stronger, smarter or better about themselves. It is sexy because it is me in my most naked form,  it isn’t sexy because it makes me look weak in front of a man. Vulnerability is a strength, not a weakness. Taking advantage of someone else’s vulnerability to be able to stroke the ego is a weakness. Being unable to be vulnerable is a weakness. Not being able to appriciate vulnerability is a weakness. Judging vulnerabilities is a weakness.

Daring to be vulnerable is beautiful. And real. So fucking real.

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1 year ago

I posted this video on September 27th last year. So much has happened since then, but letting go of something difficult was a far more complex process than I’d expected. I was just in the beginning of it when I made this video. I am still working on it, but I’ve come farther since then. What I was lacking then – was a total acceptance, a very important element in the process of letting go of something old and familiar but destructive. Otherwise whatever you are trying to let go of, will start to haunt you again at some point. And it did. What I accepted then was that it would come back to haunt me – I refused to accept the situation as it was without wanting to wait it out. I am not waiting anymore, I am letting it go. It is painful but liberating. Just as it should be to let go of something difficult. It is natural but it will pass. The result is an inner peace. It’s worth going through this hard process. It’s so worth it.

I can’t wait to be really uncomfortable

I woke up but felt more exhausted than before I fell asleep. I’ve been too tired to even leave the apartment today. But I’m not worried, this seems to be a natural healing process for my recent stress. I’m just surrendering to it without making any resistance. I’m at the end point of this process of independence that I’ve been working on since early spring. I have worked really hard to get rid of self images where I’m submissive, wrapped in co-dependency or need an authority figure to lead my life in the right direction. I need to be my own authority figure (my own Goddess) and I have figured out why I’ve been so hungry for dependency when I’m totally allergic to the submissive position. I know all there is to know about my inner obstacles and what I have to do to overcome them. There are no more theories that needs to be thought out, there’s no more research to make about how to change from a learned submissive position to reach my own independence. I am at the edge of all my theories – all I need now is to practice them in real life, and I’m so uncomfortable by the thought. It’s a good sign. I NEED to be uncomfortable in order for a change to happen.

I have a great support system around me. I’ve never been closer to my parents than I am at this time in my life and it means the world to me. We’ve worked hard to reach a place of sincerity, friendship and acceptance. I’m very grateful for everything they’ve done for me during these last years of hardships and struggles. I don’t have many friends but I have a few girlfriends that I can talk to about anything and everything and they are there for me no matter what. It makes me a fortunate person, I don’t take friendships for granted because I’ve spent most of my life rather socially isolated. I do not click with many people. I have understood that I see too deep into other people and some (most) feel uncomfortable with that kind of intimacy and it requires a shared, equal vulnerability, something that threatens people a lot. So my isolation is not about avoidance, it is about a general disconnection with most people and I don’t want any disconnections in my life. I have some people I really click with in my life, both men and women and it is all I need from the world outside myself. I don’t need more.

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My parents

Then there’s Johnny.  Our talks are so dreamlike. The way we see each other and push each other out of our shells or hiding places, we feed on the warm energy it creates and use it to get stronger and more confident in ourselves. Our love is so much based on being seen and to see. To listen in order to understand and accept. To build and add to each other instead of taking. We usually talk for 4-6 hours during the weekends and our conversations are the most stimulating ones I’ve ever had with anybody. We laugh. Cry. Analyze things. We are being nerdy. Goofy. Intellectual. Creative. Artistic. Intimate. We don’t talk much about the future, we are one with the moment. It is amazing. Especially for me who’s been dissociative and lost in the symptoms of PTSD for a long time. I was never really present in the moment during those years. Only when I was making art and even that is like being somewhere else.

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What I need to do now is to stop writing down theories and instead go out in the world and face my fears. Perhaps even all of them. One by one. First step is to find a job that will give me some financial relief so I won’t put so much pressure on myself to paint for an audience. I’m totally petrified when it comes to working with other people, but I have to trust that people won’t treat me badly just because I have so much bad experience of it in my past.

I can’t hide behind my notebooks anymore. I can’t be comfortable in my isolation anymore. I need to be uncomfortable if I want to live my life instead of avoiding it. I can’t wait to be all freaked out. I can’t wait to go against my anxiety and not listen to what it wants me to do and instead do what I need to do, to be able to reach the goals I’ve set for myself.

And there are things happening. I’m on my way. I’m collaborating with Candice Angelini, working on my new collection of works, planning my upcoming art show and on Tuesday my latest art interview will be posted (I’ll post a link on this blog). And there is my future with Johnny, always present in my heart like a happy little flame to feel when I’m having a bad day. I just need to get out of this place of being broke and stuck – then I’ll be able to reach all of the wonderful things that are waiting for me.

The past is the past

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It’s a stormy morning. But I feel calm on the inside. I’ve left the recent chaos behind, it disappeared when summer died. When I think about it, many things died this summer, so much fear, many distorted self-images and impossible fantasies. Good riddance. I feel lighter, but at the same time more grounded in myself. More present. I still don’t feel well enough to work with my art, but I can’t wait to start a new piece.

I hate that I have so many ideas but so little energy to make them happen. I need to find more ways to relax and charge the batteries. I can’t stand the idea of all those wonderful things always being stuck inside my mind and never expressed. I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.

From now on I will never let my past destroy my present again. It is the only poison I have in my life – my past. And it is no longer part of my reality and  therefore shouldn’t be ruling my present. I’ve been careless with my thoughts and squandering my emotions on things which are out of my control. I’ve tried to fix my past by waiting for the broken pieces to come together, but now I am abandoning the pieces. They don’t fit anywhere, they never did. There’s a hole now, where they used to be, but I don’t feel broken because they are gone. I thought I would. I am able to breathe more easily now. But I feel very tired. And I miss Johnny.

I will continue to rest and charge my batteries. I will take a walk and I have an appointment at a massage parlor. I’m doing my best to find a way back to my strength that was stolen by this cruel summer.

Odd selfies

My top 50 favorite movies

In this post I’ve combined two of my biggest passions – movies and list-making (both excellent distractions when you are fighting anxiety).

The airport scene from Terry Gilliam’s 12 Monkeys (1995) where the the child version of Cole witness himself being killed as an adult man.

There’s no secret that I am quite obsessed with watching movies and TV-series and I could list more than 100 favorites right off the bat, but I thought it would be enough with the top 50 of my favorite movies in this list:

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Before Sunrise 

  1. 12 Monkeys
  2. The Game
  3. Rope
  4. Autumn Sonata
  5. All About Eve
  6. Melancholia
  7. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
  8. Mulholland Drive
  9. Brief Encounter
  10. Fanny and Alexander
  11. Another Woman
  12. The Ring (US version)
  13. The Breakfast Club
  14. Midnight in Paris
  15. The Birds
  16. The Commitments
  17. Little Women
  18. Singin’ in the Rain
  19. Nymphomaniac
  20. Vertigo
  21. Bram Stoker’s Dracula
  22. Manhattan Murder Mystery
  23. Julie & Julia
  24. Eyes Wide Shut
  25. The Piano Teacher
  26. All the President’s Men
  27. Edward Scissorhands
  28. The Before Sunrise/Sunset/Midnight trilogy
  29. Vicky Christina Barcelona
  30. Cry Baby
  31. Amadeus
  32. Mermaids
  33. The Money Pit
  34. Boogie Nights
  35. Festen (The Celebration)
  36. Roman Holiday
  37. The Lovely Bones
  38. The Nanny Diaries
  39. Notting Hill
  40. The Social Network
  41. Vanilla Sky
  42. Lust och Fägring Stor (All Things Fair)
  43. Goodfellas
  44. Flicka och Hyacinter (Girl with Hyacinths)
  45. Dead Man
  46. Adventures in Babysitting
  47. Beetlejuice
  48. Closer
  49. Waterloo Bridge
  50. Deliverance