“─ How can an ocean of beauty be prisoned into a grain of barbarism?” This is the diabolical thought which whiffled my mind and indeed traversed, now as oblivion, now as prophecy, my yet astray spirit.

The Elephant Man awakes all the fundamental questions of existence: one is so able to testify this sort of “victory of image”, instead of any assumed “monologue of reason”; there is no end left, no moral truth to be reached before a violent storm of the most deep sentiments tears down every vestige of what could once be said to be “good”, “evil”! The eye of the camera knows, as a friend of the friend, how to warn us about how the urgency of life permits no judgements to overcome facts nor what we “must be” to assassinate that which gives our inner life its life ─ forgive me for the apparent redundancy!

            Passion only, passion can dissolve a terrible ambiguity... Passion annuls either the dreams and monsters sprung from a "purely rational" regard of reality, as the "poetic image" created and fed on the breast of the soul itself; passion furthers this reconciliation between "the world we know" and "the world we feel", so that throughout surprising inversions and transits it finally gets to prophesy this joyful absurdity: the existence of a world which being not known, can neither be felt!

            ─ Who...? Who ever longed for inhabiting this world of shadows!? ─ Here lies an indagation that was whispered to me by Film; and that Film itself must then respond...