There is a moment where plastic swords clash against medieval stone, where artificial blood catches the light of Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter like it’s dying. That moment is Ωmenahje—my love letter to the beautiful and superficial violence of moving images, a short film that drags the corpse of cinema through the alleyways of what remains real.
The Baroque Autopsy
The film is silent except for a single voice, the narrator, spiraling through questions no one cares about anymore. Questions like: “Why do we still make images?” “What does it mean to record what we know is already dead?” “Is artifice the only honest gesture left?”
This is it in its purest distillation: the recognition that meaning has collapsed, that we’re all making gestures in an empty cathedral. The film is a visual prayer for something called Tropical Psychotic Post-Existentialism—what we call real cinema when everything real has already been consumed by the algorithm.
Violence as Poetry, Poetry as Survival
The Gothic Quarter becomes a sound stage where time folds in on itself. Medieval alleyways witness King Arthur reimagined by TikTok aesthetics, legendary swords made of plastic, and blood that looks too red to be anything but simulation.
This is what amateur means now: not unskilled, but uncompromising. Not lacking resources, but rich in the only currency that matters—the refusal to optimize, to streamline, to make it digestible.
A Film for the End Times
Ωmenahje doesn’t answer its own questions because that would be too stupid, too much like the algorithmic narratives we’re all drowning in.
Watch it like you’d watch a TikTok. Or watch it like you still believe moving images can change something.
Because if cinema is dying, let’s at least make its death scene worth remembering.