When Children of Men came out in 2006, Marissa was arguably the first in line to see it. Not just as “an expression,” but, like, literally. At least when it came to the civilians who showed up to the L.A. premiere of it at the Fox Theater in Westwood. The date was November 16th. A Thursday. Marissa would never forget it. Because that was the day she would set in motion her firing from Helena Trallen Industries. A low-budget fashion warehouse that mostly specialized in work uniforms. It was basically like G.A.W. (General Apparel West) in Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead, except that Marissa didn’t have the benefit of a chic and understanding boss like Rose. But she didn’t know just how un-chic and un-understanding Helena was until she tested the full limits of her unspoken boundaries.

As it turned out, Helena didn’t tolerate her employees sneaking out of work early to attempt catching glimpses of their favorite celebrities at a movie premiere. That was a decided “no-no,” even though, to Marissa, it seemed as though there should be an exception to such a rule seeing as how they were an L.A.-based business. Shouldn’t that infer the “institution” ought to be more understanding about its employees wanting to “be a part of it, LA, CA”? The answer, clearly, or as far as Helena was concerned, was a resounding hell no. That wasn’t of any importance to Marissa as she high-tailed it out of their Downtown LA office around 3:30 p.m.—two hours and thirty minutes before the official “knock off” time—so that she could get to Westwood by no later than 5:30, factoring in these two hours in case of any “as expected” traffic and/or parking issues. This would then leave her enough time to post up in a good position closest to the red carpet before Clive appeared. Because, yes, Clive was her entire reason for being here. She had no actual interest in Children of Men beyond Clive. And were it not for him being the lead in the movie, she likely never would have even known of its existence. She’d been a devoted fan ever since she first saw him Gosford Park. Although he had been in a fair number of movies before 2001, this was the one that cemented her obsession. Her need to see him in everything else he did.

From 2003 to 2006, Owen’s renaissance captivated her, starting with Beyond Borders, King Arthur (which captivated her to a lesser extent), Closer, Sin City, Derailed (almost as underrated as Beyond Borders), Inside Man and, then, Children of Men. These movies made Marissa jealous of women like Angelina Jolie, Julia Roberts and Jennifer Aniston. Not because she wanted to look like them (as most other women did), but because they got to love up on Clive. Then again, no woman would get to love up on him quite like Monica Bellucci in Shoot ‘Em Up, which, er, came the year after Children of Men. But by then, Marissa would have gone way too far off the deep end in her state of homelessness to much pay attention to Clive’s work, let alone access it in a movie theater (though she did try her hand early on at hiding out in various cinemas to “kill the hours” of the day and night—invariably, she was always singled out and shuffled away like so much rubbish).

However, before becoming aware that her job was no longer hers, therefore, that soon enough, the room she was renting wouldn’t be either, Marissa was able to endlessly enjoy the premiere of Children of Men. More than the movie itself, though, what she enjoyed was being so close to Clive. Close enough to see a visible sheen of sweat on his face (LA was in it’s “always feeling hot” mode, even in November). When she would sprawl out on the streets cold and alone at night, this was the vision she would conjure up to comfort herself. The vision she wielded to tell herself it had all be worth it. This monumental sacrifice of, in essence, her personhood.

And then, like Molina in Kiss of the Spider Woman, she would recall back scenes of the movie (even if to no one but herself). Children of Men. Every time she played it back in her head, the only thing she could keep thinking was: why the fuck is it considered dystopian to have no children in existence? That actually sounds fucking great. It sounded especially great to her when, each morning, inevitably, she was usually awakened by a screaming child passing her by on the street. Whether a baby in a stroller, some elementary school-age children on their way to school or even some tween or teenage asshole who decided to let out a noise in some screeching vein “just because,” it seemed that the crux of the noise pollution on the streets came directly from children. Something that Marissa had never been forced to notice with such clarity before, because she had been given the luxury of living in the bubble of her car, like so many other Angelenos.

Her car, alas, was repossessed somewhere in the same era that she got kicked out of the room she was renting. Well, locked out of it with all her shit put out on the curb. Rather than trying to carry all those possessions around with her like a hermit crab, she decided to throw an impromptu sidewalk sale, pocketing what cash she could for the days ahead. For a while, she was able to live out of her car, but when she stopped making the monthly payments on her lease, the police eventually tracked her down and snatched it up from her. That was the last thing they could strip from her to make her fully “inhuman.” Because without a job, a lodging situation or a car (which could at least double for a lodging situation in a pinch), what the hell were you? Nothing. That was the real dystopia. Not this idea that women not being able to have children could invoke a totalitarian police state. Besides, all one needed to do was take a quick look around to see that this is precisely what humanity was already living in. No zero birth rate required. De facto, wouldn’t the absence of new births really be just the kind of wake-up call society needed to finally understand what was truly important? Having a good time, not working and fucking without worrying about the “fallout” (a.k.a. a potential mouth to feed)?

2007, the year not just of Britney’s “breakdown,” but also the year that Marissa became homeless, permanently, and in the same way any person can ultimately become homeless—through a series of unfortunate events with no reversal of fortune—was now twenty years ago. Which meant the “real” world was currently in the same year as Children of Men (though, in the book, things take place in 2021). And still, despite all the “in real time” pollution and other environmental degradation factors that the film suggested could have been the cause of this sudden mass infertility, there was still no sign of women anywhere slowing their birthing down (except maybe Italy). If anything, it was increasing because their bodies were being forced to push them out whether they wanted to or not—at least in the U.S. Marissa could see it, hear it everywhere. Try as she might to dull her senses to their presence. These children, these terrors. These gaping, open mouths who never even asked to be born, yet here they were squawking and squealing to go back from whence they came, back into the womb and into the ether of non-existence.

It disgusted Marissa the more she thought about it…and she had plenty of time to think about it. In addition to Clive’s face, both at the premiere and in the movie. If nothing else, the event—the cataclysmic event that had altered the entire course of her life—had provided her with lots of “spank bank” material. And yes, homeless people do have ample time to masturbate, in addition to thinking (the latter also being intertwined with masturbation). Privacy concerns be damned—let the others be grossed out and look away. That’s where the privacy factored in.

So it was that, for all the rest of her days living in the dystopia that had already formed long before Children of Men (in book and movie form) was released, Marissa held on to that night. The night that made her forever ruminate not only on Clive, but on why it’s considered dystopian rather than paradisiacal to live in a world where children could never be born again. Call her an anti-natalist, but, to Marissa, that truly seemed like the best thing for all involved. Involved, that is, in this monstrosity called Earth.