Whenever anyone asks me what it was like growing up in my house, my answer is always the same: Moonstruck, without the infidelity. My mother is Italian from Brooklyn, and while my dad is Scottish, he’s eaten enough broccoli rabe and pasta fagioli to count as an honorary member of the club. 

Moonstruck, which was recently re-released by Criterion, is the quintessential Italian film — not quite a love story, not quite a comedy — which makes perfect sense. Italians are cynics, neurotics and catastrophizers by nature, and rarely indulge in unabashed sappiness, absurd comedy or the vulnerability that goes hand in hand with falling stupidly and openly in love.