D.L.R.I.P. D.L.R.I.P.

What do you define yourself by? If you think you are in the 5th act of the play, but don’t yet know how and when the last act will be written. There are quite a few intellectuals in Tokyo who told me they are excited about my film. My answer: I highly doubt that a Japanese film production company can be found that is willing to invest millions in my film. Everybody in Tokyo knows that I am an artist who does not allow compromises. I have also found over the years that Japanese actresses and actors are not up to my standards. I don’t expect staged, unnatural acting, but rather psychological, convincing truth. Furthermore, I doubt that there will be a large audience for my film in Japan. The reason lies in the infantile development of Japanese society, which is dumbed down every day by TV and Anime. I am talking about life as an invention. Narrators appear in it, who slide back and forth, between the conscious and the unconsciousness. All depends on you, what and how to make these figures visible or not. David Lynch, the Lynchian. An artist so free from constraints, so unconventional that if he wanted to, he could even tell a story in a completely conventional way. As we know now, he wasn’t just a filmmaker. He was a portal to alternate realities that haunted and hypnotised generations in the so-called Global North.

The functional principles according to which the mind orders the world, called “categories”, are suspended in Lynch’s art. He undermines them to reveal the real laws of cinema: lighting, color, sound, music, the horror, the secret behind the red curtain, the hidden truth on the other side of the mirror-play, the promises of the pseudo-macho or the good girl, the sexual vampire in you who wants to become 黃帝. You have to let me absorb your youthfulness, because I am art practicing here with no dignity left. There remains a feeling of irritating, self-inflicted freedom, a desire for liberating trash, ero-fetishism and longing, animated by the suspicion that human dramas are nothing more than soap operas and that we are all hallucinating. So why not enjoy this kind of dream? Why change anything? It’s all the same, everything is one, everything is the same, there is no escape anyway. David Lynch, like every great artist, knew how to show the world as a magical, surrealist stage, whereby things lose their profane seriousness in the face of a much greater seriousness, a deeper love. This love was terrible, it also hurt and scared.
Bye.
東京、17.1.2025
亜