Schroedinger's Man

Schroedinger's Man is as much a film as it is a thought experiment: Can rationality protect us from the uncertainties of the world? Can we usurp God, or Fate, or Nature...and live in a world of our own design? And rid ourselves of that which causes us angst, rid ourselves of our fear of death, and die on our own terms? Can we isolate ourselves of all that causes us misery? Or is the unpredictable absurdity of life a necessity for our existence?

This film does not make the foolish attempt to answer these questions. It would be as futile as the attempts made by our main character. It simply aims to bring them to the forefront of our attention.

Much like the Cat in Erwin Schroedinger's thought experiment, our Man is simultaneously dead and alive, at least to the outside world. The anxiety felt by Y. drives our story emotionally. However, it is an anxiety not localized to him – rather, it's a malady that seems to be intertwined with modernity. In that sense, Schroedinger's Man is Modern Man – perhaps, taken to the extreme, more sensitive than most to the chaos that surrounds, but just as trustful in his own convictions to believe that a machine can solve his existential woes. His feeling of dissociation moves us from the sea (chaos) to the confines of his subconcious, but it is the panic of realization that moves us out of it – bookended by a deep connection with the beautiful Kalina.

Perhaps it will not be evident to a foreign viewer, but the names of Yavor and Kalina are symbolic in Bulgarian culture – taken from the great modernist poet Pencho Slaveykov's ballad Nerazdelni (Inseparable), about a love that transcends death. The film is also inspired by Andre Maurois's short story Thanatos Palace Hotel, in which a hotel that euthanizes its guests is described as an escape for those suffering, as well as existentialist works by Dostoevsky (Notes from Underground, The Brothers Karamazov), Sartre (Nausea), Camus (The Myth of Sisyphus) and Mircea Eliade (Miss Christina). The book referenced explicitly, Ray Bradbury's I Sing The Body Electric, was one of the many incredible coincidences to occur while making the film – picked out accidentally by Viktor Chouchkov during rehearsals out of a library of hundreds. It happens to include a certain short story, The Women, in which a day at the beach turns sinister, as the ocean surrealistically draws a man to his death, with his wife unable to help him...

Thematically, a list of films of influence would certainly include Louis Malle's Le Feu Follet, Abbas Kiarostami's Taste of Cherry, Kieslowski's Dekalog: One, Aronofsky's Pi, among many others – Alain Resnais's early trilogy on memory, the filmographies of Robert Bresson, Hiroshi Teshigahara, Ingmar Bergman...

And I would be remiss if I did not dedicate a separate paragraph to the immeasurable influence that David Lynch has had, not only on this and my other films, but on my life and worldview as a whole. Identifying with his Art Life and choosing to lead my version of it is what started my path as an artist and filmmaker (relatively late in life, in my mid 20's), and what ultimately led to the creation of Schroedinger's Man. I feel a Lynchian presence in so many of my creative decisions, and while I would fight it at first, I gradually came to accept that art is not something tied to an individual's creative whims, but rather stems from a collective unconscious gathered from all those whose work has touched us in a profound way. I would never be able to express my immense gratitude to him and all those like him, who have helped me forge my creative voice.

I seem to have spiraled into quite a tangent! The point of this director's statement is not to try and list all that has influenced my work. Schroedinger's Man, I am very proud to say, has a voice of its own, a feel of its own and an aesthetic philosophy of its own. Or at least I believe it does. It was never meant to copy or even pay explicit homage. It is what I strive for most in my work – intellectual and emotional honesty. I wouldn't show this film if I didn't feel like it reflects me as an artist, as a human, at this point in time – my sensibilities, doubts, fears and understandings. And it does. And, just as importantly, if it didn't do justice to the remarkable work and input that every single member of my team has put in – both from a creative and technical standpoint – on set and off, in pre- and post-production, with tight schedules and limited resources. I was incredibly fortunate to work with an exceptionally talented group of people, without whom this film would be nothing but a jumbled mess of haphazard ideas, never untangled and left without realization.

Schroedinger's Man is a film crafted in tense times, intended as a small antidote to the chaos that surrounds, and the chaos within. Be it a certain pandemic or war, or two, or what seems to be an unpredictable future ahead. With the staggering technological advances (even during these couple of years of making this film) in the machines that we humans have conceived and are developing, I feel it is as pertinent as ever. My hope is that it will reach as many people as it can, especially those with similar sensibilities and a taste for arthouse cinema. I very much look forward to the festival circuit, both in Europe and further abroad, where I believe it will resound with audiences and create conversations – both internal and external ones. And this is what my goal is, my ambition for Schroedinger's Man – conversations, human conversations. The ambiguity in the film is a means to foster it.

I want to thank everyone who was in any way involved in the making of this film – too many remarkable and talented people to list - as well as you, dear reader, for taking the time to consider my work.

With love and appreciation,

Asparuh Frangov
Writer and Director