It's all so unreal. We're moving along the Grand Canal and it's like floating through a movie set, with extras all standing by, waiting for their cue. I'm expecting the ghost in the machine, a reveal of some sort... A hint that all of this is cardboard and make-believe. Between the darkness and the incessant motion I'm pushing the camera to its limits — but I don't care.
Somewhere there's the clicking sound of a projector,
the smell of celluloid in the air.