Ingmar BERGMAN, Persona, 1966
Don’t you think I understand ? The hopeless dream of being. Not seeming, but being. Conscious at every moment. Vigilant. The chasm between what you are to others and to yourself. The feeling of vertigo and the constant desire to at last be exposed, to be seen through, cut down, perhaps even annihilated. Every tone of voice a lie, every gesture a falsehood, every smile a grimace. Commit suicide? Oh, no. That’s ugly. You don’t do that. But you can be immobile. You can fall silent. Then at least you don’t lie. You can close yourself in, shut yourself off. Then you don’t have to play roles, show any faces, or make false gestures. You think… But you see, reality is bloody-minded. Your hideout isn’t watertight. Life seeps into everything.
Script : http://bit.ly/mxmvdE
