Don't let them start hitting one another. I'm not sure I'm brave enough to intervene.
Up the garden path. Knock on the door. "Erm, I couldn't help over-hearing....."
I'd been watching the film that Tarkovsky made about himself preparing to make Nostalgia. It's the cinematic equivalent of a rough charcoal sketch. Tarkovsky sees everything sub specie aeternitatis. What's a little human life with its arguments and its throwing of glasses when the universe is forever? Calm down people, go sit in a field and look at the earth beneath your boots.
Do it for half an hour.
That's the film Tarkovsky would have made if he'd been able to get away with it- if we, the paying audience, had been worthy of him. Long, lingering close-ups of soil, of rain falling on the surface of a lake, of waving water-weed. Maybe, just to humour us, he would have allowed the camera to pan...
He appears in his own movie in a denim suit. He never changes into anything else. He has long, silky black hair and a beat-up face like Charlie Bronson's.