Artistic intention: lighting the story
I heard a story once about a woman who in her spare time and because of solitude was wandering in empty spaces, in empty houses trying to imagine her life differently, as if there were a million possibilities for her to choose from. And then, i thought how it would be if those houses were not empty at all, on the contrary what if they were full of life and warmth, and she was falling in love with closed doors and lit windows and voices coming from inside. What if she was falling for that little something that was not hers.
I thought and still think of that woman. Families in her mind are pink and colourful, and make beautiful noises when all family members are together and have a million things to do during the day, things that they don’t mean much but keep you busy and concentrated. And that woman cannot concentrate at all; her dog just died. And so, she picks up one family out of loneliness, out of not knowing what else to do, out of her need to belong and she tries, she really tries to be like them, to be one of them, to be with them, part of a family. And for a sweet and bitter moment hapiness lingers on her, as if it was her own destiny.
I want to speak about that moment, and then i want to speak about a minute later that everything is gone, maybe forever and about the minute after, when everything falls into place again, and it is like you have found your way home. This is the moment, that’s where you heart lies and that’s a knowledge that comes from within.
So, I think to myself what matters most in this story, this very story of loneliness, of not quite belonging to a place or cause and yet leading a life, is the craving to resemble the otherness of others. There is much said and yet a loose grasp with regards to loneliness, the way it sneaks into the corners of our beings, the way bedbugs do, somehow they’re somewhere around lurking, whatever you do, ready to bite you, cause after all, when you least expect it, they do bite you, and leave this subtle red mark. And maybe that is what this movie intends to do, leave a subtle red mark on a clean shoulder or smooth neck on a good night’s sleep. It might not be fatal, but once woken up, you wonder how and what the heck, and still there is that itching feeling of discomfort to prove it all. I want this film to be this teeny tiny bedbug that crawls underneath your bed and reminds you that there is more to this world apart from me and you and the life we might lead.
I grew up with Antonionis’ films and all the gravity that lacked in his story line was conveyed through the camera movements. Two houses containing the lives, silences, ups and downs, hidden thoughts and dreams. Two houses, one facing another, separating and connecting each time, along with the progression of feelings and lives of the characters. Such thing demands a very subtle cinematography aiming at capturing less apparent qualities than the reality of each and every moment.
