“Stories are like dust, stories are dust. They are light, floating on a current of air that blows them where it wishes. It is here, for example, where we finish our stories and leave you to your own, in the knowledge that the last word is the least important, because films may end but cinema never does.”
Martino is a loner, whose world is comprised of silent films, which he watches at night in the Mole Antonelliana, home to the National Museum of Cinema in Turin. By day he spends his time in an abandoned office or goes to see his grandfather as he fishes in the River Po. One night he bumps into Amanda, who works at a fast food joint and lives in the Falchera neighbourhood, in the city’s suburbs.
“Stories are like dust, stories are dust. They are light, floating on a current of air that blows them where it wishes. It is here, for example, where we finish our stories and leave you to your own, in the knowledge that the last word is the least important, because films may end but cinema never does.”
Martino is a loner, whose world is comprised of silent films, which he watches at night in the Mole Antonelliana, home to the National Museum of Cinema in Turin. By day he spends his time in an abandoned office or goes to see his grandfather as he fishes in the River Po. One night he bumps into Amanda, who works at a fast food joint and lives in the Falchera neighbourhood, in the city’s suburbs.
Martino, the night watchman at the Mole, home to the National Museum of Cinema in Turin, spends his nights alone watching old silent films. One night he bumps into the girl he’s secretly in love with, Amanda, who’s on the run from the police, and helps her to hide in the Mole.
