We might as well ask "What is life?", for film, like life, is made of moments; moments in time, held aloft for our perusal, imprinted on our soul, and then brought back to us from time to time as a memory -- by an event, a vision, a sound, an emotion. The separation becomes trivial -- cinema is life, and life cinema: around us, beside us, inside us. The cinema, then, is not to be consumed with haste; films are not to be digested simply as they unfold, like some plastic-wraped fast-food. Created by light and celluloid, they live only in our minds and in our hearts, savoured both during and after the fact. Projected onto the screen and into our consciousness, where they are replayed over and over -- continually re-discovered artefacts which are constantly changing us. What, then, can we say is truly real? A memory? An event? A celluloid image? The answer lies in the cinema. All is real. Nothing is impossible.
The cinema is the love, the meeting, the love of ourselves and of life, the love of ourselves on earth, it's a very evangelical matter, and it's not by chance that the white screen is like a canvas.
The cinema is not a craft. It is an art. It does not mean teamwork. One is always alone on the set as before a blank page.
Cinema today should be tied to the truth rather than logic . . . The rhythm of life is not made up of one steady beat; it is, instead, a rhythm that is sometimes fast, sometimes slow . . . There are times when it appears almost static . . . I think that through these pauses, through this attempt to adhere to a definite reality -- spiritual, internal, and even moral -- there springs forth what today is more and more coming to be known as modern cinema, that is, a cinema which is not so much concerned with externals as it is with those forces that move us to act in a certain way and not in another.