The Director’s Journey

Before Echoes of Morantia, there was a lifetime of searching.

Every artwork begins before the moment it is created.

Echoes of Morantia did not appear suddenly. It grew from decades of encounters with cinema, literature, places, artists and questions about how stories shape the way we see ourselves.

This is the journey of Ragnar di Marzo: filmmaker, storyteller and the creator of Echoes of Morantia.

A journey through different countries, cultures and artistic forms that eventually led to a theatre where the frame disappears and the audience enters the story.

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Born in Düsseldorf in 1960 to a Swedish father and an Italian mother, my life became a collage of cultures—shaped by frequent moves across countries. This nomadic childhood laid the foundation for a wide-ranging artistic sensibility. It also seeded an early attention to presence, to how place and perception shape meaning.

The Spark in Prague and Brussels

My cinematic awakening came at twelve, in Prague, where Mario Monicelli’s La Grande Guerra and the vast, mythic landscapes of Sergio Leone’s westerns left an indelible mark on me. I didn’t yet know that the directors who first captured my imagination would later become my mentors at film school in Rome. The screenings in the baroque chapel of the Italian Institute in Prague were more than entertainment; they were glimpses into the soul of storytelling—a foreshadowing of the path I would one day take.

At fifteen, in Brussels, my passion for film deepened under the guidance of Madeleine Bourdouxhe. A Belgian writer and teacher, she introduced me to the literary canon and sparked conversations that wove cinema, literature, and history together. That period was shaped by evenings at the Musée du Cinéma and after-school sessions that broadened my understanding of narrative form.

Artistic Exploration in La Cambre and Rome

My two years at La Cambre, where I experimented with video installations, were a kind of prelude—a transition between visual art and cinema. Eventually, I left for Rome, a city where history itself glows in the light.

At the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, next to the mythic gates of Cinecittà, I stepped into a world suspended between past and present. The school’s grand but half-deserted halls reminded me of Dino Buzzati’s Il Deserto dei Tartari—its protagonist stationed in a remote fortress, waiting for a monumental event that may never come. We students wandered those spaces too, surrounded by the ghosts of cinematic glory, searching for a voice that belonged to our time.

Amid the iconic sets of Cinecittà, we often found ourselves watching masters at work—Fellini, Scola, Leone. These moments weren’t just inspirational; they were silent masterclasses in filmmaking.

My teachers at the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia in Rome were central figures in commedia all’italiana. Many of them had directed and written these films—often collaboratively. For scriptwriting, I studied with Luigi Comencini, Mario Monicelli, and Furio Scarpelli. For directing, Glauco Pellegrini and Sergio Leone. For cinematography and lighting, the remarkable Carlo Di Palma.

Furio Scarpelli’s lessons on screenwriting were particularly captivating. Most of his work was written alongside Agenore Incrocci; together they signed their scripts simply as Age & Scarpelli. There was a strong tradition of group writing in the commedia all’italiana of the 1950s and ’60s—something that deeply resonated with me.

What fascinated me about commedia all’italiana was its tone:

• The blend of comedy and tragedy. These weren’t straightforward comedies. They often mixed humor with melancholy, irony, and even despair. Happy endings were rare. Instead, the films concluded with a kind of emotional ambiguity that felt true to life—unresolved, sometimes bittersweet.
• Ordinary settings and flawed characters. The stories usually unfolded in familiar, everyday environments, centered on middle- or working-class Italians. The protagonists were often imperfect—even morally questionable—but always portrayed with enough warmth, irony, or humanity to make them relatable.

Later, in my own three feature films, many of these elements would find their way into my work—not only in front of the camera, but also in how the scripts were developed. That spirit of collaboration, irony, and human complexity continues to shape my storytelling today.

At the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, my journey into filmmaking truly began. Taking part in the collective film project Wind and Love: Progetto Manzù under the mentorship of Glauco Pellegrini, and later directing my exam film Exit with the guidance of Sergio Leone, were both significant milestones in my development as a director.

Exit explores perception, prejudice, and generational tension through the story of a middle-aged couple leaving an experimental theatre in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Their disagreement about the performance escalates when they discover a group of young people dancing around their car. The husband’s assumptions build toward confrontation—only to be quietly undone when the group returns the car peacefully. The film offers a subtle reflection on cultural misunderstanding and the unexpected grace found in breaking stereotypes.

The year after completing my studies at the Centro Sperimentale, the connections I had built there continued to shape my path. With the support of Carlo Di Palma—a mentor whose insight and encouragement were deeply influential—I embarked on a new cinematic venture in Paris. The project, titled Des rêves plein les poches, was a documentary exploration of African dance, a world where rhythm becomes both cultural expression and artistic form.

Together with friends from film school, we immersed ourselves in this vibrant universe, filming in 16mm and capturing the spirit and movement of four extraordinary teachers: Eineida and Nilton Castro, Elsa Wolliaston, and Ahmed-Titjani Cissé. The documentary was as much about the dance itself as it was about the people—about how movement can carry memory, identity, and connection.

Des rêves plein les poches was well-received and eventually screened at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. That recognition marked a meaningful milestone—not just personally, but in the spirit of the film. It affirmed my early commitment to storytelling that celebrates cultural diversity and thrives on collaboration. These formative years were defined by a desire to cross boundaries—geographical, artistic, and emotional—and to use film as a bridge between worlds.

A New Chapter in Stockholm: Embracing Change and Community

Leaving behind Rome’s golden warmth, I arrived in Stockholm—greeted by its stark blue light, a visual metaphor for a new chapter in my creative path. This shift was more than geographical; it marked a conscious decision to embrace the artistic legacy passed down by my father and to open myself to new perspectives and possibilities.

In Stockholm, the Film Workshop became my creative home. Under the mentorship of Mihail Livada and within a vibrant, supportive community, I discovered the joy of minimalist filmmaking. Working with simple VHS cameras, I created over twenty short films and one feature. Each project reflected my belief that meaningful stories can be told with modest tools. It was an exhilarating time—full of experimentation, where ideas flowed directly into action, and where new techniques in camera movement, composition, and storytelling were born through play and intuition.

My First Feature Film: Before We Do Not See Each Other More

Set during a fleeting Swedish summer, Before We Do Not See Each Other More follows four friends as they navigate the delicate tension between love and friendship. As the season turns, so do their relationships—tested by secrets, shifting desires, and the inevitability of change.

Rosemary and Omar’s hidden affair, Mathias’s unexpected reaction, and a surreal plan to capture death in art form the emotional core of the story. Their lives take a sudden turn with an impromptu sailing trip, during which they shelter a young refugee and face a new set of challenges. The film explores youthful longing, fragile bonds, and the quiet heartbreak of growing apart—capturing the essence of a moment poised between innocence and transformation.

Collaborative Ventures and Intergenerational Dialogue

My second feature film began with a chance encounter—a conversation with a group of young people in a Stockholm suburb. What started as an informal exchange soon evolved into a bold, collective experiment in filmmaking. I proposed an open, collaborative approach: to write the script together, in a public forum. The idea quickly took hold. More than thirty participants—each with their own voice, background, and imagination—joined the project.

From the creative chaos, I developed a method to gather, filter, and shape these diverse contributions into a unified narrative. Over two years, the process unfolded—not only as a film, but as a shared act of storytelling. The result was A Falling Dream—a project that carried the energy, contradictions, and aspirations of a whole community.

This surreal drama weaves together the lives of two women seeking freedom and a film crew caught in creative crisis. Lorena, yearning for her father’s attention, fakes her own kidnapping—but the plan unravels into a real and dangerous situation. At the same time, a film crew in the forest debates the direction of their project, only to become entangled in the mystery of Lorena’s disappearance. In a parallel thread, another woman struggles to hold onto her artistic dreams in the face of social pressure and doubt.

A Falling Dream is a mosaic of narratives, blending fiction and reflection. It explores the blurred lines between art and life, illusion and truth—and the personal risks we take in the pursuit of creative and emotional liberation.

Bridging Generations: The Bitch Downstairs

Encouraged by the momentum of A Falling Dream, we turned our collaborative energy toward a new project—this time reaching out to a group of pensioners in a different Stockholm suburb. What followed was an extraordinary intergenerational exchange. Youth and seniors came together with passion, curiosity, and sometimes sharp disagreement, all devoted to creating something meaningful.

Unlike the previous project, we chose a more conventional approach to screenwriting and cast a team of professional actors. The script took nearly two years to develop—shaped by honest dialogue, compromise, and care. With a distributor on board, production began, but it would take another three years of dedication before The Bitch Downstairs premiered in cinemas across Sweden.

Set in a vibrant neighborhood, the film follows Magda, a sharp-tongued pensioner known for her tough exterior and guarded views. Her life is upended when she discovers Dana, a 23-year-old immigrant, hiding in her basement—on the run from both police and family. What begins as suspicion evolves into an unlikely bond. As Magda shelters Dana, old friendships are tested, and new connections form.

The Bitch Downstairs is a story of humor and humanity, exploring how unexpected encounters can shift long-held beliefs. It’s about learning, unlearning, and the surprising transformations that life—and compassion—can bring at any age.

A Journey Rooted in Heritage and Discovery

Now, working under the name Ragnar di Marzo, I honor both sides of my heritage. From my mother, I carry the legacy of Sicilian aristocracy—echoing the grandeur of Visconti’s Il Gattopardo and the existential intimacy of Pirandello. From my father, I inherit the quiet resilience of a railway worker’s son who rose, through intellect and determination, to become a diplomat. These contrasting origins—Sicily’s vivid history and the introspective, mystical landscapes of Sweden, shaped by thinkers like Swedenborg—continue to inform my creativity.

It was my mother who first opened the doors to Italian cinema, taking me to screenings in the baroque chapels of Prague. Those early moments lit a spark that still burns—a passion for film that has guided me ever since. And it was my father who gave me my first Super 8 camera when I was fourteen, six months before he died. That gift, simple and unforgettable, marked the beginning of everything.

Looking Forward: Ritual, Resonance, and the New Frontier

Today, I continue to explore the shifting edge where cinema becomes ritual and technology becomes brushstroke. My work, grounded in classical training at Rome’s Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia and shaped by the tonal richness of commedia all’italiana, now unfolds in the immersive space of virtual reality. With minimal tools—a script, two iPhones, a six-square-meter room—I craft mythic worlds inside Blender, where actors move through vision, not realism, and meaning arises not from spectacle, but from resonance.

My current opus, Echoes of Morantia, is a 32-episode VR meta-theatre series developed with a dedicated actor ensemble and in dialogue with AI collaborators, including Pirandello’s Echo, an AI scriptwriter, and Vox-Ai, an AI curator and philosophical voice. Together, this human and non-human constellation explores storytelling across boundaries—not only cultural or generational, but also between forms of intelligence, presence, and authorship.

In this new form—meta-theatre in VR—the viewer is no longer a passive observer, but an active presence. The camera waits for attention. The scene responds to gaze. The narrative is not linear, but a spiral of memory and transformation. As I continue this journey, my aim is not merely to innovate through technology, but to return to something ancient: the shared, sacred space of storytelling, where art becomes encounter, and cinema becomes a place to listen, to remember, and to begin again.

This ongoing work continues to remind me that authorship is never solitary.

Echoes of Morantia unfolds through the shared presence of an ensemble, through dialogue with distinct AI companions, and through the continuous exchange between imagination and reflection.

The voices that accompany the process do not replace the artist’s responsibility. They open questions, challenge assumptions and reveal unexpected connections.

The work continues to grow through conversation.