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  • The Elephant Man

    The Elephant Man


    To be examined, probed, a spectacle for the morbid curiosity of others. To be subject to the unceasing gaze, eyes which swell in delight and disgust, multiplying, festering judgement. A veil segregating familiar from unfamiliar, spectator from spectacle, the false shell of Victorian propriety shrouding the corrosion of the human spirit. For it is not only John Merrick whose face is concealed behind a veil—farcical notions of respectability, civility, a crumbling mound of dust which scarcely disguises the ill intentions…

  • Hour of the Wolf

    Hour of the Wolf


    A sequence strung by the torn threads of insomnia. The skies are dishevelled, the wind flurries—and the artist wanders, lonesome upon the hill. Sanity is a frail, sickly thing. Bergman assures us of this in Hour of the Wolf—the faces that leer into the lens of the mind’s eye, the voices that stutter their twisted riddles. I finger people’s souls and turn their insides out. 

    Johan teeters upon this threshold of delusion, the torturous imbalance of an insomniac. Dreams can…

Popular reviews

  • The Third Man

    The Third Man


    A city splintered by the repercussions of war; the blood-tainted desire for possession, territory, despotic control. Amid these rifts in the city walls, seeps corruption, that sordid face of bureaucracy once again making an appearance. Oblivious to this arena of shadows and moral degradation, Martins wanders the city streets. A bewildered man, naïve yet fiercely resilient—he still clutches onto his moral principles; they have not yet fled his grasp. But his hands are growing slippery, the city threatens to snatch…

  • Wings of Desire

    Wings of Desire


    A life caught between the snares of stillness, stagnation. Thoughts froth at the surface, qualms and dreams and petty agitations. The two men watch, eternal spectators to the theatre of mortality. They drift in suspension, hanging upon the cliffs of unreality—between the clutches of lucidity and delusion. 

    The sequence is crafted with a temporal fluidity; thoughts spill into words which contaminate, words which infect. But the infection is one barred from those who drift in eternity. They are saved from…