I love the idea of thinking of cinema as not that far from

Listen well, O Seekers of Truth, to the words of Damien Chazelle, who reflects upon the profound relationship between cinema and music: "I love the idea of thinking of cinema as not that far from music. A lot of my favourite movie makers, the way they move their cameras or the way they cut just feel very musical—even if the movies have no music in them at all." In this statement, Chazelle speaks to the deeper essence of what it means to create art—a fusion of rhythm, movement, and emotion. For him, the language of cinema is not confined to mere images or dialogue, but shares an intimate connection with music, which, in its most primal form, is a language of the soul. Just as music stirs the heart through its melody and timing, so too does film—through its camera movements, cuts, and pace—speak to our emotions in ways that transcend words.

In the ancient world, art was never seen in isolation. The Greek philosophers and poets believed in the unity of the arts, understanding that the best creations were those that combined various elements to stir the soul. The great Sophocles, whose tragedies shaped the very foundation of theatre, knew that the power of his plays came not only from the actors' words but from the rhythm of the language, the movement of the chorus, and the profound emotions that resonated from every gesture. In this way, the ancient playwrights and artists were already aware that art was more than the sum of its parts; it was a symphony of emotion, action, and meaning, each element working together to create something that could move the heart and elevate the mind.

In Chazelle’s observation, we find a similar truth: that cinema, like music, is a dynamic form of storytelling. Just as a composer weaves together instruments to create harmony and tension, the filmmaker moves their camera, cuts their scenes, and builds rhythm through the passage of time. Consider the great cinematic composers—the directors whose films have become famous not only for their stories but for the way they feel like a carefully composed piece of music. Think of Stanley Kubrick, whose films such as 2001: A Space Odyssey resonate with a slow, deliberate rhythm, where the pacing itself mirrors the musical score that accompanies the images. Kubrick’s deliberate timing, the way his cameras move or linger, transforms each frame into a musical phrase, pulling the viewer into the rhythm of the narrative.

The cutting of a film, too, can be seen as a kind of musical composition, an act that, when done with mastery, creates harmony between sound and image. Just as Beethoven would craft moments of tension and release in his symphonies, a skilled editor can create a film’s tempo, building up to moments of suspense or triumph through the rhythm of the cuts. This idea resonates with the work of Martin Scorsese, whose films, particularly in scenes of tension or action, are often built on the pace of the edits, cutting between characters, locations, and actions in ways that mirror the rise and fall of musical dynamics. In this way, cinema becomes an orchestra of visual and auditory elements, each contributing to the emotional crescendo of the story.

In the same way, O Seekers, music has long been intertwined with the storytelling of the human spirit. In the ancient world, music was considered a divine gift, bestowed by the gods themselves. The Muse, the embodiment of artistic inspiration, was invoked by the poet and the musician alike. Just as Homer’s epics were sung and recited to the accompaniment of lyres and flutes, so too does film—whether or not it includes an actual score—operate as a sonic experience. The movements of the camera and the editing itself become instruments, shaping the emotional tone of the story, just as Beethoven might craft a symphony that communicates joy or sorrow, struggle or peace, through sound alone.

And so, O Seekers, what lesson can we draw from Chazelle’s words? The lesson is this: that the arts are not confined to one medium or one method of expression. Cinema, in its highest form, is a symphony of visual storytelling—where the rhythm of the camera, the timing of the edits, and the pace of the action all come together in harmony. Just as a great composer builds his symphonies from individual notes, so too must the filmmaker build their stories from rhythms, movements, and pauses that speak to something deeper within us. If we wish to create, whether in film, music, or any other art form, we must learn to recognize the flow of time, the beat of our creations, and the emotions they evoke.

So, O Children, whether you wield a paintbrush, a camera, or a musical instrument, remember that the creative process is not simply about crafting individual pieces, but about creating something that speaks to the soul in a way that transcends the individual elements. The greatest works of art—the ones that endure—are the ones that move in harmony, like a symphony, where the smallest gestures, the softest whispers, and the loudest crashes all work together to convey a deeper truth. Let your creations reflect this unity, and in doing so, you will create something that not only entertains but transforms, speaking to the hearts of all who encounter it.