"Theoretically blasphemous, his behaviours dictated by an innate inability to comprehend. The monarch of evildoing, perhaps a former innocent creature descending into despair, entirely aware of having chosen a wrong route but incapable of a decisive move towards resurgence. Consequences that must remain unchallenged, otherwise it’s hell - way before the real hell is finally reached. An ear-deceiving poker-faced orchestra keeps gesturing, leaving the disconsolate congregations totally clueless. The last to perish, they’ll die as blessed performers to the very end: brave substitute officers of a vessel that was not conceived for reposeful cruises, but still floats in a vibrating ocean of vigilance. Life is an oasis of fraudulence for feckless noise-makers in the desert of susurrant timelessness; the false attempt of unhousing an ego can transform a once-noble aspiration into a dreadful incubus. Black and white fluidity turning into scathing combustion. Frothy waters contaminated by parasites changing the attitude of the unfortunates who drink. A stupor whose rules correspond to a single dogma: remove the truth. Those who believed themselves geniuses reveal their crack-brained side to get mentally and morally obliterated. The multitudes who used to conform to the swayer’s unwiseness will soon collide with an unforgiving verity. The rudimentary ugliness of humankind: no gods or semi-gods to save someone from drowning in the quicksand of ordinariness. Flaccid flesh, idiotic jokes, convulsive eating, laughter for no apparent reason. The smell of uncouth desperation emerging from the saddening scene. HAZE OF THE FACULTIES, veiling the significance of a presumed balance that is not there and never will be. Having merely won a battle, one thinks of ruling in the war of nerves. But the ungenerous soul of acceptance is not going to allow more than that fleeting glimpse of illusion. Changes of perceptive depth bash hard on individual security; hidden behind the fictitious place’s hypothesis, you’re suddenly awakened by the arsonist handling the frequencies and the colours you had refused to hear and behold at the outset. A disfigured face comprising hundreds of little replicas of that incongruous expression. Personification of the incapability of keeping a promise — born unclouded, transformed into receptacles of tensions, vicious entities deprived of any feeling whatsoever. Deluded by the hope of personal meaningfulness, addressees of something that cannot be taught. Trying to achieve a simultaneousness of intuition, resonance and controlled fear. Words mean nothing, paintings are overly difficult to complete: the ever-present malfunctioning mind of the self-loving herdsman kills the artlessness of what’s always been there from the beginning. There is a filter between instant understanding and creative act — the maggoty brain wants to win every time. The spirit’s motility corrupted by private contortion. We can’t even scream in anger for the worst type of crime. Decaying thoughts, disintegrating borders. The lone realisation — that of our own ignorance. Choirs mutating tones to adapt to a new harmonic condition where there’s no resolution, just endlessness of emotional disruption in sempiternal tears. Joy or sorrow — it’s exactly the same. Inexplicably fallen to Earth with no role, irrecoverably oblivious to the PURPOSE, destroying our own BEINGNESS, forsaken by the AEONIAN HUM. Unequivocally conscious of what we have managed to dilapidate, we’re left contemplating madness. Too late for the U-turn." (Massimo Ricci)

Screenplay, direction and original 
paintings by Andrew Leslie Hooker

Photography and editing by 
Stuart Mabey

Original soundtrack by Philip Jeck
(Published by Touch Music [MCPS])

Deconstructed and reinterpreted
(with additional material) by
Giuseppe Ielasi

Sound design by Giuseppe Ielasi
and Andrew Leslie Hooker

Produced By Andrew Leslie Hooker 
and Stuart Mabey (The Mutant Love 
Dolls), 2004–2014