The summer of 2005 was my summer of movies. Hugely pregnant with my first child, and living in a Brooklyn apartment with limited air conditioning, the Court Street movie complex was my only reliable refuge. I saw everything that summer — from "Batman Begins" to "War of the Worlds" to "Wedding Crashers." No movie was too serious or too silly. Settled in with my icy diet soda and bag of buttered popcorn, I had only my unborn child as company, and she was enough.