Rationally, I don’t believe a handless man can grow new hands, but I can act as though I believe it because I’m interested in what comes afterward. Besides, I am working in cinema, which is a machine that manufactures miracles. Thanks to cinema, we can see an actor who died fifty years ago now, or how a seed germinates and grows into a plant, or how a bullet leaves a gun barrel and strikes an urn, whose fragments settle to the ground with the grace of a dancer. And these miracles don’t even surprise us anymore. It’s a shame that cinema wasn’t invented centuries ago. The most trivial newsreel from the Middle Ages would be marvelous: Joan of Arc’s death at the stake, a society ball at the castle of Gilles de Rais, a documentary on the cultivation of beets in those times.