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Lost Images
Movie Review
By Fabricio Estevam Mira

We all try to keep as many grains of sand as possible between our fingers while trying to protect ourselves from the wind. Sometimes we find periods of calm. Sometimes all we have are storms. We will always end up empty-handed, and the final taste on our tongue has the colors of the paths we avoided. Cesare Bedogne, in his Lost Images, shares with us some of these grains, wet with seawater, rain, and sweat. They are images filled with meanings and emotions that, although entirely personal to Bedogne, resonate with anyone who knows that much of the best that exists within you is sculpted in periods of your life that are not necessarily happy, but that force you to look inward, whether you are surrounded by the proud and threatening solitude of nature or by someone who makes you better without asking for it. The introspective soundtrack ties the moments together, breathing between a shakuhachi, waves crashing on rocks, iron marches on tracks, and eloquent silences. The beautiful and largely monochromatic photography constantly maintains the feeling that reality goes only as far as you can see and feel. That what is out there can lead you to the warmth of ecstasy or to the desperation that borders on finitude. While most filmmakers would easily create boredom and self-complacency in such an intimate documentary about themselves, Bedogne paints a solid audio-visual poetry that will guide you through a feeling, not through words and dialogue. A contemplative, sensitive, and melancholic work.

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