I remember now why I stopped using drugs—I watched this film. And anyone thinking of experimenting with them might want to watch this first, especially those wooed by the flash and charm of the drug image. This is anything but a cool portrayal of the high life. This requiem, in fact, is a harrowing and intense plunge into the tremors and terrors of drug addiction, and the hopes and dreams so shattered.

It might even be the most disturbing movie ever made on drugs, and for that reason alone it needs to be placed in high school curriculums and be required viewing where students can watch, review, dissect, and write their feelings down. It should be watched with wise fathers, wise mothers, and professors who can help guide a discussion afterwards. I’m not saying this will cure the war on drugs or even minimize the appeal for how drugs can be enlightening—because indeed, they can be. I’m just saying that a window of caution might open up and show how easily a life can be wasted if not checked by restraint.

Calling this film a cautionary tale is even too tame and mildly condescending. There is no preaching or sermonizing here. Aronofsky is not pointing a finger. He’s just giving us a window into the life-destroying power of drugs and the all-consuming denial that accompanies the habit.

You really can’t misinterpret this film. This isn’t Tarantino behind the camera showing us how “cool” it is to inject heroin. Everything you imagined about how fun it is to smoke dope is turned into bad-trip perversity. I mean, hell, the picture itself looks diseased; it reeks of an unsettling greenish, bluish hue that suggests spiritual gangrene. Then you have all the nerve-twitching hallucinations, the stroboscopic montages of drug rites, and the involuntary close-ups of dilated pupils, teeth-grinding, and of course, the needle-in-veins money shot. It all depicts evil so convincingly yet never advocates for its practices, which is why again this is such an important film for teens.

As an ongoing survivor of drug addiction, I really identify with this film for reasons that some may likely misunderstand. You see, I often don’t buy into the sentimentality of happy-ending Hollywood films namely because my life hasn’t been one. This film doesn’t have a happy ending. It has a poignantly wise one, and wisdom, I have learned, often comes at the price of deep sadness.

Would I ever trade my past habits for ones where I eventually couldn’t feel cleansed from moody films? No. Definitely not. That’s the whole reason I relate with depressing stories–they give weight and leverage to the fact that my life isn’t a lie. Without those grueling tutorials, I might never feel so deeply, privately, personally, and emotionally about how beautiful it is to live a life freely, without the nag of a hook. That is to say, I really only know freedom in virtue of having once been chemically enslaved. The irony is delicious.

I identify with these characters because their experiences are my experiences. Their fears are my fears. Their pain is my pain. And films untouched by fear and pain are pretty much a waste of my time.

Aronofsky Ranked