Memory runs by its own itinerary, departing and arriving at stations of the past on its own schedule.

All of Wes Anderson's films are confections, memoirs created in cinematic snow globes, with the subtext that memory is the most extraordinary confection of all.

The truth is of course is that there is no journey. We are arriving and departing all at the same time.

Before movies, memory unspooled differently in the mind, trailing off in dust-blasted fade-out rather than spliced-together flashback; before photography, memory rippled like a reflection on water's surface, less precise but more profoundly true.

White Americans believe we've made more progress since the end of slavery in 1865 than do black Americans for whom '12 Years a Slave' documents a collective memory, passed down in the genes and by the lore of generations.

Our celebrities are arriving on schedule. Missy is here, Usher is here, Fat Joe is here.