I'm unsure as to whether I could name a single living director, who speaks to me in a way Roy Andersson does at the moment. His films are absurd, they are morbid at times, funny at others. They have a specific artificiality to it, which is desired and, despite its apparent superficiality, goes deep. How can we understand this discrepancy?
Roy Andersson is the only director who, to me, expresses exactly what it means to be human. There is no other director I know of who manages this. Of course, Slow Cinema, in general, is a . . .
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