After so many horrendous disappointments at the film festival in Motovun, I am forced to think through my feelings about contemporary movies. The best I can come up with at the moment is rather quaint: having veered so far toward the world of yoga, I am suffering from an ever-greater detachment from the world in which I actually live. The so-called western world. The festival only dunks my nose into it. The mystery that remains concerns the intensity and color of my emotions. Why outrage? Why despair? Why not grief and compassion, instead?