I remember long silences. But I was used to long silences in movies, growing up with a national broadcaster that programmed Bertolucci and Antonioni on prime time. No, it wasn’t just the silence, this movie was different, but in some way that I couldn’t understand.
It took me years, in times before the internet, to find the title of the movie, and then again months to find a copy at the video shop. Finally, I watched it as an adult.
It overwhelmed me once again with its images and its meaning. And overwhelming was also the realisation that when I watched Hiroshima mon amour for the first time, I was not even ten.
Now I wonder how much it impacted on my current taste in movies, art and love.