It's a circus life, the movies. It's a lot of travelling, a lot

Listen, O seekers of wisdom, to the words of Paul Greengrass, a director whose work often plunges into the heart of human struggle and resilience. He said, "It's a circus life, the movies. It's a lot of travelling, a lot of antisocial hours; there's a lot of it that's about escaping from life." These words speak to the illusion and distraction that can sometimes accompany the world of cinema, a world filled with constant movement, temporary moments, and a relentless pursuit of escape. For the movies, like a circus, are a place where people come to witness the spectacle of life, yet often at a great personal cost. Greengrass pulls back the curtain, reminding us that behind the glamour and lights lies a life far from the stillness of home, one that is often marked by sacrifice and the need to flee from the very essence of the world it seeks to portray.

To understand the meaning of this, we must first reflect on the nature of the circus—a place of illusion and spectacle, where performers dance, juggle, and entertain, all the while hiding the quiet pain that accompanies their labor. The movies, like the circus, offer a chance to escape—to step into a world of dreams, of heroes and villains, of love and loss. But behind the beauty of the film lies the harsh reality of the life of the artist. It is a life marked by exhaustion, loneliness, and an endless cycle of transience. The movie industry, much like the circus, is driven by the need to move, to always be somewhere else, to chase the next thrill, the next project, the next moment of glory.

Think of the great actors and directors of the past—Marlon Brando, James Dean, Audrey Hepburn—whose lives were shaped by this same cycle. Their careers, though filled with extraordinary moments of artistry, were also marked by a constant escape from the mundanity of life. For Brando, the glory of the silver screen could never fill the emptiness he felt inside. His need to retreat from the pressures of fame and the demands of Hollywood led him to live in solitude, far from the life the world expected him to lead. Like Brando, James Dean sought refuge in the roles he played, stepping into characters that allowed him to escape his own confusion and inner turmoil. The lives of these artists remind us that the pursuit of glory in the movies often comes at the cost of a deep personal disconnect from the world that exists beyond the lens.

The life of the artist, as Greengrass suggests, is not merely one of pleasure and reward, but of displacement and estrangement. The act of creating films, of living out the stories of others, is itself a form of escape. It is a departure from the ordinary, a retreat into a world of imagination and artificiality. In this way, the movie world becomes a kind of sanctuary—a place where one can momentarily forget the weight of personal struggles, societal expectations, and the harsh realities of life. It is a life that demands sacrifice, as the artist trades moments of intimacy, connection, and stillness for a world of constant motion and artifice.

Yet, there is a lesson in this duality—the recognition that while the movies offer an escape, they also ask of the artist to confront the world in new ways. The illusion that the circus provides is not meant to be permanent, but to remind us of the deeper truths that lie beneath. For the greatest artists, it is not just the escape that they seek, but the transformation they undergo in the process. The life of escape becomes, in its own way, a journey of self-discovery—a passage through the mask of the circus to the true self that lies hidden beneath.

Let us look at the example of Ingmar Bergman, whose films often explored the complexity of the human soul, the tension between light and darkness, between illusion and reality. For Bergman, the world of cinema was not an escape from life, but a way to dive deeply into it. His films challenged the viewer to face the hardest truths about human existence—about death, about love, about faith, and about the eternal search for meaning. In this way, Bergman’s work transcended the circus of cinema, offering not an escape, but a deeper engagement with the human condition.

Thus, O children of the future, heed the wisdom in Greengrass’s words. The circus life of the movies may offer a fleeting escape, but let it not seduce you into forgetting the world that lies beyond the screen. As you journey through life, remember that escape is not always the answer. The true task of the artist—and of all people—is not to run from life, but to face it with courage and honesty. Whether in the art of film, in relationships, or in your inner journey, do not be content with the illusion of escape. Instead, use your art, your work, and your life to engage with the deeper truths of the human experience. It is in this engagement, not in the flight from it, that we discover what it means to truly live.