PLOT
They say hell resembles a crater. But those who have eroded the mirror through relentless refraction know that a navel is all it takes for an individual to sink. This is what happens to the film’s sulfurous soul, in its attempt to entomb its own conscience beneath molten flows of imagery. And yet we see it – the soul, immensenseless – unearthed again, savoring the fleeting chance to begin anew, to reappear in the world, to (be)come into it. Rebirth is not possible; and as for never being born, it’s too late for that. The true state of nature is Nothingness. So let’s lie down and corrode in peace. And in the meantime, let’s not forget to dis-appear, to re-emerge, to plunge and then resurface, vanish, and unwind. Valgus humanity: life is not worth living. The more cheerful among us might object. Isn’t it a sin? To let yourself be crushed by the leaden sky? To sink into the scalding, stitched aluminum of the Mediterranean? The answer is given by the sullen moon.