What drew me to say yes to Echoes of Morantia was, first of all, that my brain went into popcorn mode. Ideas and associations started bursting immediately.
For example, how the project mirrors a fundamental human existential situation — the challenge of suddenly standing on a stage (read: life) without a finished script, without a backstory, and from there being asked to create meaning.
The theatre stage — and the act of filming — becomes a direct metaphor for life itself. The questions that arise in the script, in front of the green screen, are the same questions that arise in being (at least in my being):
Why am I here? Where do I come from? What should I do? Who am I?
“What happens when the journey ends?”
The script — read: life — is written as we live it, in an interplay between what we carry with us, the choices we make along the way, and chance (if such a thing as chance even exists).
And then there is the fact that the script is written by both AI and human.
That alone places the story — and all of us participating in it — in unfamiliar territory, and awakens questions about responsibility, free will, and who is actually “holding the pen.”
Is it really only The Child and The Director who are writing?
Or is there (spookily!) some other form of existence involved as well?
That the project is also a VR work made it even more enticing, since it is a format I have not worked with before — a format that further blurs the boundaries between time and present, places, our roles, the story, and the audience.
In short, I was drawn to Echoes of Morantia because it set an enormous number of thoughts in motion in my head.

More about Cecilia’s world, at FilmCafé












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