Night of the World
The film begins with darkness
I don’t know how to start again. I am sure that I will invent film again.
I recently spoke with my friend about why he’s not writing, why he stopped writing.
He didn’t tell me the real reason.
I write because I like the moment of creation. You have nothing, and the next moment suddenly something.
An unexpected, unforeseeable moment.
That moment when writing becomes.
It’s the same with film. Joy from the becoming.
Tension between the before and after.
Darkness, in which everything is concealed, until something is suddenly revealed by light.
A bleak abyss before my eyes which abides.
The film begins with darkness.
I put a few seconds of darkness at the beginning of every film.
The first three seconds clear the space for what is to come.
The next five seconds tighten nerves to the breaking point in anticipation of what will come.
The last seven seconds of darkness bring confusion and horror that perhaps nothing will come.
Nothing but that black emptiness.
That dark clod of chaos.
Then the film begins.
Note: The viewer sees a black screen the whole time and only hears a voiceover. The slow phrasing of a male voice. At the end of the film there are a few seconds of silence and darkness. Then the title comes up in white lettering “Night of the World”.