We people know about people, so we know about ourselves. We do not know many things; unknown beings have a distant meaning, not waiting for us to discover. Cinema, or any screen, is a screen because we are not allowed into it—we are allowed only to be a seer.
We do see trees, dogs, cats, motorcycles, generators, pages, words, letters—we see them with anything but the confidence of a creator. We do create, but the journey is not in our hands. We try to understand what is happening on screen. Even if we are a director, we will only know the upcoming events of a story—we will know nothing except that.
Feeling helpless, right? We are. We will feel extreme helplessness if we cut down this “we.” Yes, my dear fellow, here is no community. We survive through that idea. We watch, we see, we witness, we try alone—our own selves—not an animal, or clouds, or events happening on screen.
Animals, perhaps (I might be wrong), unlike us, never feel a sense of community. They may be automated like that. Like the screen: the screen was never invented for community watching, but for a basic turn—a turn towards one lonely seer. One lonely seer could feel everything happening inside a screen. He doesn’t need any external clues from a fellow human. He has all the moods he needs to feel any events inside.
But sometimes, a retarded, complicated, leased body cannot respond—sad, but that is realization too. The realization conveyed by the screen: You are unable to feel me, understand—we are not in communication!