This film constitutes a passage between my two other films, Trompe-la-Mort and Quartier des bachelors or... I would say an experience of "cogito" with the camera/a narcissistic experience which is parasitized (contaminated?) by passers-by. The sirens, and then this void. What distinguishes the "cogito" of the filmmaker from the "cogito" of a madman? This question already discredits/tympanizes the possibility of a purely phenomenal “cogito”: I see myself, does this mean that I exist? The interfilmic references of the soundtrack generate meaning already in the direction of a dispersion of the ego.
Naples, 1959. Pure Mathematics professor Renato Caccioppoli, Bakunin's grandson, is a tortured soul. Recently discharged from the psychiatric hospital, left by his wife, and increasingly disillusioned with academia and the Communist Party, he lives his last days with painful detachment.
Ash, a handsome, shotgun-toting, chainsaw-armed department store clerk, is time warped backwards into England's Dark Ages, where he romances a beauty and faces legions of the undead.
Carolyn Sapp, Miss America 1992 (and a non-actress), plays herself in this drama based on her personal story of abuse and betrayal at the hands of the man she loved, Nu'u Fa'aola, a Samoan pro-football player for the New York Jets.
Comments
Have you watched J'ai perdu mon âme dans un miroir de brocante... yet? What did you think about it?
