Black Ultraviolet

Born into a world where we are constantly influenced by an innumerable quantity of forces, can we truly say that the person we are today exists independently of this system? Or are we simply the product of our environment and the ripple effect of the choices of strangers beyond us? Among others, these were a few of the lofty, philosophical questions that inspired this introspective film, imbued with the poetry of dreams, memories, and the oftentimes indistinct line between them that motivates the future.

My obsession with the Biblical exploration of the notion of predestination drove me to Cyrus’ arc and the creation of a hesitant messiah; he’s not akin to an archetypal, heroic martyr who dies for his cause without question, but a coward who second-guesses himself and the full extent of his abilities, an unremarkable kid from a middle-class family unfamiliar with the extraordinary. It’s this existence within the margins that intrigued me, the juxtaposition of stark normalcy with the grandeur of something so awe-inspiring and otherworldly, as Cyrus’ metamorphosis is deeply personal and irreversible, a singular experience that simply couldn’t be explained without losing its nuance in translation.

That, to me, is one of the most interesting stories, the story of the tree falling in the forest: if there is nobody around to witness it, does it make a sound? Maybe we need to reframe our focus: sure, the tree’s story doesn’t directly affect us then, but picture an asthmatic called up to the front in class, sucking in a desperate breath of oxygen after forgetting their inhaler. Picture the birds optimistically migrating to a forest that will not welcome their efforts with shelter. Picture the earthquake that forms after the earth’s tectonic plates shift from the force of the century-old tree’s fall. If we consider our story valuable and that tree’s fall affects our life’s script, I can guarantee you that it does indeed make a sound - it’s a voice - and it deserves to be heard.