I watched Hiroshima Mon Amour last night. It was Alain Resnais’ first feature film and Marguerite Duras’ first script. It was also the movie that sent me to film school.
The passageway into a new story is precarious and bumpy, full of potholes (to-do lists), wrong turns (the refrigerator) and distractions (the internet).
Climate scientists and activists have been sending out red alerts for years. But imagination can’t be forced. I look at photos of dark orange skies with disbelief. Friends and family in California and Oregon describe the darkness of morning with a mild, numb shock. We don’t completely believe it’s happening, even now.
Some months ago, I came across a structure called Kishōtenketsu, a Japanese narrative in four acts. Kishōtenketsu is not rooted in conflict. Conflict may exist but it’s not the generator of the story.
