A person as old as he was in isolation told me that his only wish was not to suffer undue physical and mental destruction, that his death be as quick as it was painless. And his biggest fear was losing his sight. He had no interest in meeting new people or seeing nature. His eyes were used to reading, a joy and a refuge that had always accompanied him. But for years he had only reread a few books that shaped his life and that fascinated and touched him emotionally. He no longer had time to explore. And of course he never felt the need to be accompanied by television. He was bored.
I myself love literature and review old films every day and during sleepless nights that have fascinated me since my first encounter with them. Some have aged quite a bit, not many, but most continue to give me beautiful sensations. And they don’t tire me, even though I know them by heart. For this reason, I am not unduly afraid of the current strike of writers and actors, as I understand their rebellion in the name of the old question “What about mine?” Unique if hidden premise of renewed power masks, protests, manifestos, begging, demonstrations and all those very human things.
For far too long, films and series have often seemed unbearable, clonal, predictable, full of slogans and stereotypes that enjoy political blessings, strategically linked to the signs of the times. I understand that they are demanding their share of the pie from the corporate sharks and are afraid of being replaced by artificial intelligence. But it is clear that they were very docile and obedient to the guidelines of the big market. All because of money and not artistic integrity. Normal.
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