"Calves with their throats cut judder about so obstinately that their kicking heads send the pans of their hot blood skidding and slopping across the tiled floor; men have to restrain their posthumous vivacity."
Raymond Durgnat describes George Franju's Le Sang des Bêtes
Cinema is a body of abandoned limbs ready to be reanimated through the archive; the butcher's backroom in the hands of scientists. You can step into the shoes of Gloria Swanson, the petrified reanimator of Sunset Boulevard and bring spirit to the meat. For cinema only exists in watching. It is spontaneously reactualised by the spectator. At all other times it enters the tomb of half forgotten friends and relatives. "Little by little, it crumbles away, the memory crumbles away between the fingers and one does not know what becomes of it." (Nina Danino)
