Love for Cinema

It’s a day like any other and Carlos is trying to write a screenplay for a film his wife Anna wants to make, but nothing he puts down is any good; he’s spent the whole afternoon with his inspiration flat on the floor — never more literally, since his room is covered in crumpled sheets of paper full of empty ideas. What to do? he asks himself. Suddenly, after a sip of whiskey, he remembers that Anna is reading a book.

—Darling…

—Yes, Carlos?

—I don’t know what to do with your clones… I’m here writing the screenplay and I can’t figure out what the hell to put in it.

—Listen to me, Carlos. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Clones? Doesn’t matter. Zombies? Doesn’t matter. Screenplay? Doesn’t matter. Internal coherence? Doesn’t matter, love. Clever dialogue? Doesn’t matter either. Faithfulness to the video game franchise? It never mattered. Respect for reality, for physical dimensions? You remember the box of infinite zombies, Carlos.

Yes, of course, how could he forget.

Well, none of it matters.

—So then…?

—Do you love me, Carlos?

—Of course, Anna, you know I love you.

—Well, that’s all there is to it. If you love me, the whole world can go to hell. Now come to bed.

—But Anna… Filming starts tomorrow and I still don’t know what the movie is about.

—Don’t worry, darling, it’ll be about what they’ve all been about. About your love for me, a love that makes everything else stop mattering — a violent, savage love, full of blows, absurd zombies, absurd villains, a love pulled from dream and nightmare. A psychotropic love, Carlos.

—Yes, you’re right, Anna… darling.

—I know, love. Now, let’s go.

And from that love, “The Film” was born.

For a special woman.

Carlos. 22/11/2019