Listen to “Yo! My Saint” while walking down the street, ordering a drink at a lonesome bar — the message is now ubiquitously contextualized. The people passing you on the streets start to resemble signals rather than the object of humans themselves, they become props to further the song into everlasting existence.
Call Me by Your Name is more than a tale of first love; it is a tale of love, interrupted. The magic is cut short, memories are sealed and shelved with blue, billowy shirts of ex-lovers and mothballs in the back of the closet.