07 May 2018
If a filmmaker creates intensely personal and intimate films, they are not necessarily addressed to or even for the people in his or her life. In fact, people’s first hand knowledge and experience of the filmmaker in person – the memories, relationships, friendships, beliefs and even flesh of that individual – are nothing but obstacles between them and the film. The films become tragically entwined and confused with the presence of their maker. It is only after the death of the director that they can start to free themselves of the burden of prejudices that their director draws down upon them. Cinema is indeed a destructive force; one must ruin ones life to create this radioactive wasteland of cinema. Is it worth it? There is only one answer: we have no choice.
Image: Phantom Islands (2018)