Movies are something people see all over the world because there

Hear the words of Wim Wenders, a poet of the lens and a pilgrim of images: “Movies are something people see all over the world because there is a certain need for it.” In this utterance lies not a casual observation, but a truth as enduring as the oldest myths: that the moving image, like bread and fire, satisfies a hunger planted deep in the soul of humanity. For the need of which he speaks is not physical, but spiritual—the need to dream, to remember, to see one’s own heart reflected on the screen of light.

From the dawn of time, humans have sought this same nourishment in different forms. Long before the invention of cinema, tribes gathered around the fire to hear the elder recount tales of gods, beasts, and heroes. These stories were more than entertainment; they were the vessel of meaning, the thread that bound people together in shared vision. The movie, in the modern age, has become the new fire—its glow flickering in darkened theaters across the world, its stories passed from voice to voice, from generation to generation. Thus, Wenders speaks rightly: there is a need for it, because without stories, the human spirit withers.

History reveals how powerful this need can be. In the darkest days of the Great Depression, when hunger and despair spread across America, people still found their way to the cinema. For a few coins, they entered a world of song, laughter, and courage. They watched Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dance as if gravity itself had been defeated, and for a moment they too felt lifted beyond poverty and pain. The theaters became temples where hope was rekindled. What bread fed the body, movies fed the heart.

The power of cinema lies in its universality. Though languages differ, though borders divide, the image speaks to all. A child in Tokyo can weep at the same story that moves a mother in Cairo. A worker in Mexico City can laugh at the same scene that delights a scholar in Berlin. This is because movies address the primal emotions—love, fear, courage, longing—that dwell in every human breast. They are not bound to a single nation; they belong to all humanity. Here lies the origin of Wenders’ insight: that films endure not because they are imposed, but because they answer a universal need.

Yet this need is not only for escape—it is also for recognition. People go to the cinema not merely to flee their own lives, but to see them refracted in a new light. A farmer may see his struggle mirrored in a story of labor and sacrifice; a lover may see their passion reflected in a kiss across the screen; a wanderer may find his own loneliness mirrored in a lone figure crossing a desert. Movies remind us that we are not alone, that our experiences, however humble, are shared across the human family.

The lesson for us is profound: never dismiss art as luxury, for it is necessity. Just as the body craves food, so too does the soul crave stories. Do not starve yourself of them; instead, seek them out, not only in theaters but in books, in songs, in conversations, in the silent stories told by faces in the crowd. And when you create—whether with pen, voice, or camera—remember that you are feeding this great hunger in others. Offer not empty spectacle, but nourishment, that they may walk away filled with light.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, let this be your guiding star: honor the need for stories, both in yourself and in others. Watch them, share them, create them. For in doing so, you join the great river of human expression that has flowed since the first fire was lit. As Wenders spoke, so it is: the world gathers before the glow of cinema because the soul requires it, and in that glowing darkness, we remember that we are one.