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Come see your mask in action.

I'd like to read you something I wrote.

"Isolation in a chamber that must be sealed off from the outside world

because it's full

of deadly gas...

a chamber in which...

one must wear a mask to survive...

strongly evokes the conditions under which modern man lives."

I don't want to design any more of these.

"One cannot reflect on this mythical one-dimensional man

without analyzing

all the characteristics of our industrial society.

Nevertheless, a well-drawn metaphor could be very informative

and shed light on certain far-reaching consequences

that are never explicitly addressed.

For example, doesn't knowing that one must wear a mask

create a sense of anxiety?

Internalizing these obsessive, hallucinatory needs

leads not to an adaptation to reality

but to mimicry and standardization, the elimination of individuality.

The individual transfers the outside world to the interior.

There is an immediate identification

among individuals in society as a single entity.

One's needs for physical survival

are met by industrial production,

which, in addition, sets forth as equally necessary

the need to relax, to enjoy oneself...

to behave and consume according to advertising models

that render in explicit detail desires anyone may experience.

Film, radio, television,

the press, advertising,

and all other facets

of industrial production

are no longer directed at different goals."

No, this sentence isn't clear.

"Film" comma,

"radio" comma —

Sorry.

I watched these. They're very entertaining.

I'll watch them tonight.

"Under these conditions of uniformity,

the old sense of alienation is no longer possible.

When individuals identify with a life-style imposed from without

and through it experience gratification and satisfaction,

their alienation is subsumed by their own alienated existence."

Just some notes.

DILLINGER IS DEAD

Something wrong?

I have a little headache.

When I see other couples in a warm embrace

While the sun makes off

With another day

Red sky

Where are you going

Stay and maybe I too

Will find love

I'm hungry. I'm going down to eat.

What can I do for you?

Thanks. Bye.

- Which would you choose? - This one or this other one.

This one's nice too.

Thanks. Now let's join the others downstairs.

- What's your name? - Anna.

Tell me, do you wear lipstick?

No, I don't care for it, and my mother wouldn't approve.

Maybe next year. - I wear it.

- You do? What's your name? - Lalla.

You wear lipstick and what else?

Eye shadow, false eyelashes, eyeliner — everything.

- When do you wear all this? - When my mother goes out.

I call my friends, and we stand at the window.

- Why the window? - So people can see us.

Little girl.

You haven't spoken yet. What's your name?

- Sheila. - Do you wear lipstick already?

No, but I will when I'm grown up.

- Good. How old are you? - Twelve.

You look older than 12.

I know. I'm very tall.

- How tall? - I don't know.

Is your mother happy with you wearing nylons?

No. At first she was upset, but I wore them anyway,

and she stopped saying anything.

Do you wear miniskirts?

Not miniskirts, but short skirts.

Here today Tomorrow where will I be

Here and there I love freedom

And no one's going to take it away from me

For a while

You understood

And I stayed at your side

But now

You've taken me all for yourself

And soon I won't be able to breathe

Here and there I love freedom

And no one's going to take it away from me

Here today, gone tomorrow

That's how I like to live

Never putting on the brakes

Here and there

I love freedom

And no one's going to take it away from me

I recorded your voice on two tape recorders

That play continuously

So that your voice

So that your voice is always here

PUBLIC ENEMY NO. 1 GUNNED DOWN OUTSIDE MOVIE THEATER

- Good evening, sir. - Good evening.

Hand me the celery, please.

I'm so thirsty!

I'll hang on to the bottle. I had some salted cod.

Good night.

What are you looking for?

A nail file.

Why don't you come to bed?

Bring me the sleeping pills, please.

Give me two.

I want to sleep.

A glass of water

and the hot water bottle, please.

Good night.

Kiss.

You're the handsomest of all.

Just a moment.

Excuse me, Sabina. Do you have a nail file?

Over there.

Yes?

Who?

Just a moment.

Sabina.

Telephone.

At this time of night?

I'm coming.

Sorry.

Yes?

It was fate.

I can't talk now.

It was fate.

His legend lives on in everyone's heart.

Our very own Fausto Coppi:

There was no ascent that could tire him,

no dizzying descent that could unnerve him,

no finish line he couldn't reach first.

It was fate.

There won't be another athlete like him

for a long time...

It was fate, of course.

Ours is an "overground" filmmaker, the filmmaker of space,

or, borrowing the title of his recent 70mm film,

the "satellite" filmmaker.

If I had to choose one image to define his films, it would be this:

the young girl with the soft lips and searching eyes.

It's a short film consisting of one long shot

that probes the face and body

of a wild, fascinating young girl.

At first the filmmaker is driven...

Behave yourself!

... by a Godardian fascination

with woman's natural ambiguity

and the magic of cinematic images.

But then he rebels and begins altering his perfect image.

He cuts it up, turns it inside out,

takes it apart, burns it...

insults it, negates it.

We're forced by this physiological process,

this "cinemato-physiological" process,

to become aware of what is "us"

and what is "other."

It was fate — period.

- Calling this late... - Take these things away.

I'm sorry.

Go away! Go away!

Don't film me while I'm playing!

Don't get mad. Calm down.

You don't understand anything!

Cut it out with that damned camera!

You're a monster, that's what you are!

You don't understand anything and never have!

You can't get inside my brain with your zoom lens!

Leave me alone! I hate you!

Go away!

Anita.

Where do you want to go?

Oops-a-daisy!

Who's this?

The Virgin as a baby.

Move over.

Why do you find me sexy?

This bed's small.

Tell me...

do you like honey?

- What? - Honey — like you eat.

Get it. It's in the closet.

Scared that war will break out?

Come on.

Come here.

Please, I'm very tired.

Don't tickle me.

Brave and strong Hermes, who left your father's fields

to make the sea your home, we will miss you.

Above all, you were a good man.

Rest in peace, amen. Lower him into the sea.

- Who died? - The cook.

Let's go, boys.

- Excuse me. - Ceremony's over. Let's go.

- I'd like to ask you something. - I'm just the boatswain.

- Don't you need a cook now? - Of course.

I'm an excellent cook.

Ah, this air!

The sea's always been my dream.

I'd like to sail. - It's not up to me.

The captain gives the orders, but the young lady's the boss.

Then why don't we ask her?

She's walking away. Why don't we ask her?

Try me out. My cooking's very healthy.

I don't doubt it.

Okay, we'll try, but no guarantees. I'll take you to her.

Excuse me, miss.

He says he's a cook. Shall we try him out?

Have him make a chocolate mousse.

Thank you very much.

Let's go to the galley.

- I was lucky. - She obviously likes you.

- Where's this ship headed? - Tahiti.

I can't believe it...