Today I started reading Andrei Tarkovsky’s Time within Time, a selection of his diaries covering his early work in the Soviet Union with Mos Film, all the way through to his exile in Europe and the late and deeply personal films he made about his longing to return. They purport to be the insight into the mind of one of cinemas true auteurs, The Sculptor in Time, the one Ingmar Bergman described as being “the greatest, the one who invented a new language, true to the nature of film, as it captures life as a reflection, life as a dream.” and the visionary who moved film from document to pansophy. I made my way through the preamble and following on from a short monologue about his desire explore the life of Dostoevsky in film. I reached:
“Last night I got drunk and shaved off my moustache”
Some things are better left untouched. Leave your idols on their pedestals.