Although the author is likely never entirely satisfied, it is undeniable that, upon finishing a work, when he recalls its beginning—when there was little more than intention and expectation—he must conclude that something special has happened. Sometimes, it is noticing the unimaginable path the creation has taken, and consequently the unexpected outcome, that brings the satisfaction of knowing he has brought something new into being, that he has, at last, done justice to the task he set out to accomplish. Perhaps it is not much, and perhaps this satisfaction does not outweigh the dissatisfaction with the final product; but an author finds fulfillment only through creation, and improves only by building upon what he has already created. A completed work, therefore, will never be so bad that it does not teach him at least one good lesson.
When I Think of the Sannyasis of India…
When I think of the sannyasis of India, I realize that I have, of course, renounced nothing, that I lead a life of pleasure and comfort, and that I have faced nothing but minor obstacles in pursuing my calling. If, however, I compare my circumstances with what I have become, if I reflect on the natural path I rejected, on an adult life that has amounted to successive defections, to ever-increasing isolation, to small deprivations that have piled up, to the continuous abandonment of what I was and much of what I was destined to become, I see that it was no small matter. Surely, I would have no trouble convincing an ordinary citizen of my madness. And perhaps I will end up, like Lima Barreto, attending a mental institution. But it is certain that, just as Lima Barreto could not, I could not have done anything different from what I did.
To Understand What Cinema Has Become…
To understand what cinema has become, one need only ask: who would read a work of literature written by multiple authors? The answer is very simple: someone looking for entertainment. In a story written this way, there’s no doubt that even the smallest details would be carefully crafted: the story might be an ingenious puzzle, and the plot would unfold by revealing “mysteries”; but, as surely as morning follows night, the story would lack authenticity. And that is exactly why, no matter how advanced and perfect it becomes, no one will have the slightest interest in a story written by artificial intelligence. Art implies a connection between two and no more than two souls; otherwise, it does not happen.
The Moment a Film Production Relies…
The moment a film production relies on a team of screenwriters, it forfeits the possibility of producing a work of art. It is the most obvious of the obvious: the filmmaker and the screenwriter must be the same person, and the work must be an individual creation. Cinema, however, has turned the former into a sort of manager, a specialist in scene composition, the person who decides where the camera should be placed; the latter, on the other hand, no longer exists, because he has multiplied into a team. No matter how talented the screenwriter may be, in a collaborative work, his talent will be diluted. The team will certainly produce a well-rounded screenplay; and it is precisely for this reason, because consensus will prune out the eccentric elements, the scenes that do not fit, the “nonsensical” dialogue, and the idea “that won’t work,” that the film loses, from the outset, the uniqueness that characterizes a work of art. A screenwriter, without a name, cannot become a filmmaker. A filmmaker, without money, cannot produce a film without a binding contract. So, there is not much more to say.