The soft urban crisis of love lost to the crowd is, within the structure of the musical or romance, only a momentary deferral, a taste of the actual alienation of the city that only makes the final fantasy more palpable. But it opens up many sublimated questions: What contributes to the uniqueness of any face? Why does it inhabit the cusp between happiness and despondency? How does it turn infinity into intimacy, intimacy into extimité? What illusions are involved when we consider that the mere turning of someone, with proper musical accompaniment, will turn the world upside down?
Like the landscape of Italy after World War II, the unexpected anonymous face, however momentarily, opens up the vertiginous possibility of renewing vision.
(Godard's Pierrot le Fou: "Love needs to be reinvented. Real life is something else.")