A face doused by red light.
“Why don’t you now go home to your village?”
“I don’t want to. I’m ashamed.”
“No one knows your story. If you like, I’ll help you. Go home.”
“No, I’m ashamed. No one knows what I’m doing here at Phnom Penh. But you know it.”
The film couldn’t be closer to life: it focuses on the spiritual death of a prostitute. The ultimate of social decline ends in the irreparable justice of an irreversible procedure: the destruction of a body.
For me it’s a commitment, an attempt to make amends: to deal with my inability to react when confronted by intolerable situations.
The film stems from this. Distress combines with anger inside of me. I hold it against people who frequent these “prostitutes.” I hold it against indifference, poverty, good intentions. Hence the film resembles this rage, fragmented, keen as the debris of a dream.