Pasolini

A real artist starts out by celebrating the world and ends up finding something wrong. 

To a really great artist the mystery of the beginning is the least interesting part of the drama, and will always remain a mystery.

The music in Pasolini's "Medea" alone qualifies "Medea" as a great movie. It's still winging around in my brain since Saturday night when I first saw the movie at The Castro Theatre in San Francisco. 

Maria Callas looked like she'd lived through every tragedy, but could break into ecstasy at any moment.

That I saw "Medea" at the end of a long day near the end of a long weekend intensified its effect.

I was so tired of myself and of Thomas Fuller and of Monsieur Ambivalence.

I questioned many of the decisions I'd made during the day, and suspected that the conseuqences of those decisions would manifest in my life tomorrow.

I wasn't who I thought I was, and perhaps I'd never be.

At the very end of Pasolini's "Medea", the word Fin appears on-screen in red letters. Those in the audience who thought the movie was over were wrong, as were those who ran from the theatre screaming that the world was on fire.