A-D
E-H
I-N
O-R
S-T
It's a summer evening from many years ago: the city is empty, and the final of the soccer world championship is underway. A woman, Teresa, reaches the Tiber and lets herself go into the river. The abyss swallows her while Virginia, her daughter, travels through Rome in the dark of the night: she wants to find her and save her. Virginia must cross
the depths of the waters, of history, the myths, the vital brightness and the disasters of a timeless Rome. Only then can she see her mother again, surfacing from the blackness of the Tiber, flying towards Amor, "the planet of care”. Surrounded by water, its streets, squares, and fountains are reminiscent of those of Rome with animals roaming freely.
How many times have we said these words to a mother, a brother, a lover? The question that I ask myself and that underlies the film like a pulled thread rests in its title, Amor. Does saving love exist, the one that keeps us close to others no matter what? That's what I asked myself the day my mother Teresa died. She was gone and I couldn't stop her. And the depression, which had wet every corner of our existence like water, had receded leaving rubble. Perhaps this is what the citizens of Rome felt in the immediate post world war II when faced with their destroyed city. The past was full of black holes, but life was calling and they had to move forward. From them I understood that the only way to come back to life was to reconstruct the fragments of Teresa's life, put them next to each other, emulating who had done it before me with the ruins of Rome and, in this way, make it appear again.
