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I have a confession to make: I am an avid credits watcher.
Perhaps it's because I myself am an artist that it's important to me to hold space for the names scrolling across the screen. For each of them is an individual, and an individual can be defined as the embodiment of their collective experience.

What woes were on the forefront of the mind of the background artist, and what joys? Was the character designer commemorating a loved one with the protagonist's distinctive necklace? How much was the trembling in the voices during the climax a dramatization, and how much were the actors channelling their own narratives?
How did they balance it all: the labor of the job, the goings-on in their personal lives, and living it out under the crushing weight of capitalism?

These are the things I ponder as each name gets its 15 seconds.

I also wonder about the names that don't necessarily make it onto the screen: the first person to be amazed by someone's doodles in the margins of their science notebook, the confidant who assured the writer during a time of doubt, "This is a story that deserves to be told." The custodians who kept the studios and sets clean! Catering!!

Anyway, I went to see a French dub of a Studio Ghibli film today. It was practically a private screening.
As the rest of our party made for the bathrooms, my lover and I sat next to each other in the middle of the middle aisle, in a chair made specifically for two. (Sidenote: How have I never encountered this in a theatre before?? Or do I just not remember...?)
We took an extra bit of our time and offered it in tribute to names neither of us were able to read. Because one's command of a particular language—or lack thereof—is unrelated to appreciating their contribution to a body of work, honoring their existence.

I can't speak on what they were thinking about in that moment, but I certainly included them in my veneration. They are, after all, so much of how and why I wound up at a cinema in Europe this afternoon in the first place.
And uncharacteristically, I even dedicated half a second to myself, perpetual work-in-progress that I am.

If you made it this far: thank you. Here is a moment of my time that I dedicate to you, and the autobiographical poetry in motion you are.