Love With A Telephone
Jaco Van Dormael
Perhaps in all my films, the characters are dealing with storytelling about their own life, except one that is George, who is just alive. He doesn’t want to pretend, he doesn’t want to make a story of his life, he doesn’t want to resemble to something else. In Toto, it was something like how to make a sort of edit of eighty years of life, just to make believe it makes sense. And here in the impossible choice, in Mr. Nobody, the kid looking to different futures, and it’s impossible to know — to choose between — even if he has the feeling, the premonition of what will happen, it’s impossible to choose, because all the lives in fact are interesting. In all the lives, there is love. All the lives are fantastic, all the lives are cruel.
It hurts in all of the lives, and there is happiness in all of the lives, so it’s impossible — he doesn’t make the choice, because — he cannot choose because he doesn’t know what will happen, and at the moment he knows what will happen, it’s impossible to make a choice. The free choice is something strange, because I think when — what is a free choice? What can we choose in our own lives, is it saying — is the choice just saying yes to something you want, but without knowing why you want it? I’m in love with that woman, and yes, that is the choice, but we never knew why that woman, and another why we don’t decide to fall in love with a telephone or something like that.1 That would be a choice, but here it’s not a choice of just saying yes to something we feel without knowing why we feel it. So, I think there is no freedom in choice, but — there is happiness in choices, but I don’t think freedom.2