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Holy Motors (Leos Carax, 2012)

December 2, 2012

It’s like another beginning, or another ending. Not that it matters, really. There’s so much to say, and no way to say it. While the audience is asleep, dead, and a door that had always been there is finally opened. Holy Motors, white limousines, hundreds of ‘em, thinking about their imminent extinction, while humans keep on killing themselves on the streets. What is life, anyway? What’s that thing you call home, when you come back at night? Coming back from what? I miss forests. It’s just when the blood comes out that you can tell the difference between a real experience and a virtual one. Or, at least, a homicide is a good way to catch a cold. Or you can kill yourself, twice. Or another time more, it depends on how much time you have left. You can find beauty in cemeteries’ flowers, or in a sewer. Until you realize that it’s all in the act. Remember the time when people would enjoy those jumpy, scratched images, bouncing in an eternal loop, always the same? Me neither.

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