People kill themselves because of society’s
inability to educate, in terms of love, any further than a given point. Nobody
in this world seems to be able to love beyond a certain point; they all go up
to a certain point then they become emotionally tired of it, or bored or hurt.
They change, and their love doesn’t transcend certain obstacles. For somebody
who is very sensitive and idealistic, as we all start out to be, it becomes a
dramatic experience. You can either make that bridge or not, and we are going
to make this picture for people who are possibly lost, and try to point out the
reasons for it.
One can always count
on Cassavetes to tell it like it is.
Or Neruda.
But love, this love
has not ended: just as it never had a birth, it has no death: it is like a long
river, only changing lands, and changing lips.
No comments:
Post a Comment