My Fake Criterion for Tell No One (2006), directed by Guillaume Canet.
Martin: I sat down at my computer ten years ago and feel like I’ve never got up again. I don’t know if the Internet is the future, but it was mine: I design websites and this is my cyberspace. (…) Due to repeated, violent panic attacks, I locked myself in my apartment for years. I won 17 championships at expert level. Four times undefeated, nine times top scorer. I beat Federer four times at Wimbledon. I became Godfather of the Corleone family. I was totally isolated. Scared. My psychiatrist developed a strategy to help me overcome my fear of the city: photography. A way to rediscover the city and people. A search for beauty where it’s not apparent. Observing is being and not being. Or being in another way. I distracted myself. I don’t take the bus or taxis. Much less the subway, and I’d never take a plane. I only go by foot and always have my survival backpack. Contents: A Leica D-Lux 3 with 10 megapixels. Rivotril drops, 2.5 mg. Amoxicillin 500. Ibuprofen. Sunglasses. A plastic rain coat. A Victorinox with 21 tools. Flashlight with batteries. Condoms, three units. 400 pesos cash in small bills. An iPod with 60 GB and more than 8,000 songs. Three Tati films. A notebook. And a plastic card about how to proceed in case of an accident or panic attack. (…) The Internet brings me closer to the world, but further from life. I do banking and read magazines on the Internet, download music and listen to the radio on the Internet, order food on the Internet, watch films on the Internet, chat on the Internet, study on the Internet, play on the Internet, have sex on the Internet (…).
Mariana: I’ve been an architect for two years, but still haven’t built anything. Neither a building, nor a house, nor a bathroom. Nothing. Only models that are uninhabitable, and not only because of their scale… I didn’t fare well with other constructions either: my four-year relationship collapsed despite my efforts to shore it up. If my life were a game of life, I’d have to move back five spaces. (…) Until I can work as an architect, I’m designing shop windows. It distracts me from other thoughts. I think of the windows as lost places. They’re neither inside nor outside. An abstract and magic space. They reflect a part of me. At the same time, the anonymity calms me. Maybe it’s stupid, but I think: if someone stops to look, they’re somehow interested in me. I’ve had this book [Where’s Waldo?] since I was 14. And forgive me, great writers, but it’s a key book in my life. It’s the origin of my fear of crowds, which has become existential. It dramatically represents the fear of knowing I’m one lost person among millions. Years have passed and I still can’t solve one of the puzzles: ”Wally in the City”. I found him shopping, at the airport and the beach, but not in the city. Perhaps my nerves have blinded me. So I’m wondering: if I can’t find a person when I know who I’m looking for, how can I find a person when I don’t know who I’m looking for?
“Is it hard to play someone else?”
- “It’s much easier than playing yourself.” - Europa Europa (1990)
