United 93

I couldn't think of a good reason to go see United 93, the new film about the flight that crashed in a field in Shanksville, Pa., on Sept. 11, 2001.

Now that I've seen the movie, I'm still not sure if I can think of a good reason. But I'm glad I saw it.

For some reason, I like revisiting old traumas. There's something intoxicating and maybe a little useful about immersing yourself in anxiety. Reconnecting with horror.

It wasn't an enjoyable experience.

The only other time I can remember having a similar visceral reaction to a movie — just letting it take over my emotions and physiology without any detachment — it was The Blair Witch Project.

For both films, I allowed myself to experience the events as though they were actually happening. As though I were there. But Blair Witch was a contrived thrill ride, designed to spook and scare. We all know the too-true story of United 93. And on screen, filmed by virtuoso writer-director Paul Greengrass (The Bourne Supremacy, Bloody Sunday), it felt 100 percent convincing. And 100 percent horrifying.

I fidgeted in my seat from the very beginning. It was excruciating. I felt angry. Helpless. Sick. Knowing what was to happen only made it worse. My hand held steady on my chin, on my temple, over my mouth. My pulse raced until the credits rolled, and I left the theater feeling somehow heavier.

The entire film played like a time portal back to that Tuesday almost five years ago. (Can it possibly have been that long?) A day when nobody knew the name Osama bin Laden. A day when a hijacking was something that played out on a tarmac in Europe, with hostages and demands and talk of releasing prisoners somewhere. A day when suddenly there wasn't anything else to think about.

I was outbound in the Lincoln Tunnel that morning when American Airlines 11 smacked into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. By the time I switched from CD to radio and figured out what had happened, the 1010 WINS reporter was talking about how — right at that moment — we were all living in a new world. It was a moment when hardly any exaggeration didn't ring true.

These days, I spend lots of time driving up and down the New Jersey Turnpike past Newark Liberty International Airport and southern Manhattan. When I see an airplane arc after takeoff or glide toward landing, I can't help but flash back to those familiar TV images. I see United 175's sleek, sickening silhouette cutting the blinding blue city sky on its way toward the South Tower.

This film brings it all back. Unrelenting. Uncompromising. It's a testament to those who lost their lives, those who fought back and those who tried to do their jobs under impossible circumstances, with a hint of exasperation for those that failed us all.

In today's disposable entertainment culture, United 93 has already almost left the stage. Forgotten in the din created by Tom Cruise and the rest of the summer season, filled with retreads and superheroes.

This film shouldn't suffer that fate. It can be a rallying cry to question the people who purport to protect us today. It can be a historical document of one of our darkest days, written in lightning until something new and long overdue thunders down.

I still can't think of any good reason to see this movie. Except to remember. And relive, so — perhaps smarter and more prepared — we can live again.