It was as if in the endless dark night, I suddenly heard a voice from another world, ding ding dong dong. You look for the sound, and you see a row of waving flagpoles in the night and fog, like a net, an insurmountable hurdle. How to explain this feeling, you are stunned, staring at it as if you are under a demon, forgetting where you are, and time loses its rhythm. Everything behind him became distant, secretive, and never seemed to come close.
Alain Delon asked Vitti if you and your fiancé ever knew each other.
How to answer this question. The smile on the face can turn into a haze in an instant, and the light in the eyes seems to be absent. Everyone has addictions. People in the stock market are addicted to numbers and transactions, and those unknowingly running call signs are even a bit ridiculous to outsiders. Alain Delon was obsessed with Vitti, how different the waiting under the window, the temptation through the glass, and the drunk who plunged into the river.
What about Vitti? Vitti seemed to have nothing, so she seemed so at a loss. A person cannot be without addiction. There needs to be something, an excuse, from which you can comfortably escape from yourself, from those multi-dimensional twists and turns of emotions and personalities that are difficult to comprehend or even perceive. That way, you won't be driven mad by yourself.
Is Vitti not addicted? Actually, she does too. She, or Antonioni, is obsessed with the space she is in, the moment of indulging in it, an empty mirror. They are too conscious, too self-awareness, too unbearable of empty silence. Why can the Kenyan women on the wall have such a huge impact and influence on them? A dog, a carriage, a bucket of waste water, what leaked and seeped into the ground, they all saw it, heard it, and even became them themselves. What about emotions, what about stories? It's just part of the space around them, the way Vitti looked at the stock trader who lost millions, and the way she looked at a string of flagpoles that night—the same space of alienation, the same strangeness Landingly, fascinatedly, watching these are but things that belong to another world.
"It's like a poor actor who struts and worries for his hour on the stage and then is never heard from again. Life is a story told by an idiot, full of noise and emotional disturbance but devoid of meaning."
View more about L'Eclisse reviews
