A short film about Abruzzo earthquake.
This is the story of a place.
Houses, animals, people that filled mountains and valleys, are now imperfect memories, have an ashed consciousness, a body that is rubble.
Something terrible has happened, an obscene act, a miniature apocalypse.
You might think destruction is magnanimous. Sometimes, someone survives.
But it also leaves a trace of nostalgia for the future, grapes of lips rottin' on the tarmac, narrating meat whispering a race, crying of someone else's listening.
Plaques arise as artificial dreams; all of them are engraved: "Here lies civilization".
All around the time is weeping, by reciting a grief's tired show.
Homelesses are crystals of cold in a winter that will never end.
Someone tries to rebuild. Someone else to survive.
And only the walls tell the truth, tell a people that's holding a pair of eyes, imprinted on the iris the upset Eden of a lost today.
This place is called Abruzzo, this city is called L'Aquila.
One night, the earthquake has brought debris, injuries, deaths.
Since then territory is a soundless lung, a cubist painting hung on the walls of fear.
Among his unruly geometries we imagine a people who breathe, waiting for the announcement of a perfect future, sipping light from a small immensity.
It would be nice, not to die that way.
Houses, animals, people that filled mountains and valleys, are now imperfect memories, have an ashed consciousness, a body that is rubble.
Something terrible has happened, an obscene act, a miniature apocalypse.
You might think destruction is magnanimous. Sometimes, someone survives.
But it also leaves a trace of nostalgia for the future, grapes of lips rottin' on the tarmac, narrating meat whispering a race, crying of someone else's listening.
Plaques arise as artificial dreams; all of them are engraved: "Here lies civilization".
All around the time is weeping, by reciting a grief's tired show.
Homelesses are crystals of cold in a winter that will never end.
Someone tries to rebuild. Someone else to survive.
And only the walls tell the truth, tell a people that's holding a pair of eyes, imprinted on the iris the upset Eden of a lost today.
This place is called Abruzzo, this city is called L'Aquila.
One night, the earthquake has brought debris, injuries, deaths.
Since then territory is a soundless lung, a cubist painting hung on the walls of fear.
Among his unruly geometries we imagine a people who breathe, waiting for the announcement of a perfect future, sipping light from a small immensity.
It would be nice, not to die that way.
Production Lacrima Pictures
Camera/Editing/Sound Design Alberto Violante
Camera/Compositing Martin Cannas
Camera/Editing/Sound Design Alberto Violante
Camera/Compositing Martin Cannas
