16:52 - 18:09, Vertigo (2020)

Muted silvers of light slip through the crack of the door. A pair of stained glass windows, predominantly burgundy, decorates the two-fold doorway. The windows cast a set of mirroring shapes onto the dark, desolate street. Two sphere lamps on either side of the door dimly illuminate the way.

A gentleman in a black suit strides into this arc of light. The camera approaches him slowly. He walks past one—two sash windows with woven wooden shades. His reflection precedes him, announcing itself in crisp detail on the bronze sign. It covers the engraved words - Ernie’s momentarily, then makes its way to the muted surface of the doorway. The gentleman turns to look at himself along his path, but the doors blur his image. He continues forward in rapid staccato. The sound of a car follows his monotonous rhythm, chasing his way out of the frame. The camera does not follow. It fixes its gaze on the doorway, drawing itself into the mysterious world behind the delicate shades of glass. It permeates the image and fades into the doorway, where a vigilant pair of eyes mimics its gaze, watching intently at the sign of Ernie’s.

Scottie gazes out the frame, his lips fixed and his forehead furrowed with thoughts. His hair is neatly combed back in strands of black and white. He slouches a little, sitting in an awkward position with only his head turned to the right. He wears a navy suit with a tie in stripes of red and green. Its red mirrors the redness behind. Its diagonal geometry differs from the floral, florid complexion.

The camera starts backing away from him. It glides to his right, tracking his gaze to reveal the subject of his attention. At his back, a pair of old couple converses joyfully in front of a framed picture on the bar table. A group of three occupies one of the door frames behind. Light bounces off its silky burgundy finish. The space grows in depth. Another portal lies behind the pair of door frames - its opening delineated with gold decor in fanciful curls at its crown.

Scottie remains unmoved, his gaze unwavering among the lively clutter. He holds tightly onto his cup of whiskey. His other hand rests firmly on the rim of the countertop. He leans back cautiously, then concludes his first and only gesture. He is simply there, watching in absolute repose. The camera waltzes away, leaving him and his gaze in a state of abeyance. It takes its own circuit walk amidst the room, revealing the space in slow motion, frame by frame. It travels through another opening - one which Scottie is encased within - toward the main dining room. It suspends him behind the wooden frame. A loner in a crowd of chatter.

Women and men decked out in elegant fashion sit around each of their tables. They constitute a palette of black, navy, blue, and lavender, dropping occasional tints of white and mint - all but muted colors submerged in the obsession of red. A waiter wends his way into the scene and disappears behind a cone-shaped bouquet of red and pink flowers. The lovely little flowers recede into the surrounding redness, conjuring in their blossom an inexpressible aura of depth and mystery.

The camera comes to a temporary rest at the center of the room as if it were to compose a landscape. On the back wall, a gilded frame portrays an elongated cluster of flowers in red and green that is replicated by the pair of tall bundles on both sides. Two wall lamps flanked the artful composition. The dense redness itself becomes a formalized image, a beauty barely altered by the luster of the chandelier hanging overhead.

A strange mood sets in, along with a melody. The room is dozens of conversations and other sounds too - the clattering of exquisite dishware and footsteps falling in soft thuds on the thickly carpeted floor. The melody strolls demurely into the scene and gains its strength gradually as the camera trails its gaze toward a dashing green. It glows with a dreamlike luminescence in the dim, warm redness - the greatest irreducible of all colors found in this cocktail of sensations. It is unidentified - musical and strange - a prelude of melancholy grandeur broods over the room.

The camera weaves its way in between the tables, anticipating its first romantic encounter with the fairest tone. It recognizes Gavin, the companion of the charming green, and then it recognizes her. The green is her. It cloaks her. The first sight of her body, in all her pale softness, sends through the frame a pang of lust.

Scottie returns to the scene. The camera trades with him a view of her elegance. He straightens his body in anticipation. He blinks. He observes her. The melody raises a pitch, pulling the sounds of the outer world away from his mute watchfulness. His hair, now in shades of brown and blonde, attempts to impersonate her lightness. Even the light connives at his change, casting its radiance over the blossoms on the wall, enlivening it, brightening it. The melody sings for him the first promise of all her mystery and beauty. It swells into its fullness, performing a sensuous harmony.

His gaze replaces the camera. It travels through an aperture - another door frame in burgundy finish - to capture her profile set in a further doorway. She straightens her dress - a nakedly backless evening gown with a green silk shawl - as if to position herself for a painter.

The exchange repeats, back and forth, each turn a revelation of her beauty that fades into the silent obsession of his deep-set eyes. Gavin stands behind her and pulls the chair out. She rises, but she keeps her head down. Her pale, shining hair - almost tangible - appears to suspend in the air, entwined with gentle light. The camera stands closer to him. A half-alarmed, half-bewildered look comes into his eyes. He looks down to avoid her arrival. He ventures another glance, hardily maintaining the mask of composure. His gaze leaves her. He turns his head, inching his body closer to the bar table. His soul swoons slowly as she comes closer to the door frame and closer she comes to him, staging a crescendo in a symphony.

She leads Gavin out onto the space where Scottie awaits. She looks to her left and right, never to her front to engage with her secret spectator. Her face carries a delicate beauty of that bloom. As she passes through the frame, a shadow in rosy translucence consumes her and suffuses her skin, as if it has drunk into its very depths the light of the color. Gavin stops behind her to speak with a waiter. She turns back to him, then carries on her walk, lifting a corner of her mouth curved into a subtle smile. She looks out to her front, onto a world beyond reality. The blazing green accentuates her fair skin. Her face transfigures with impenetrable thoughts. The red seems a little brighter, the scene a little warmer, and the world turns up a notch. She glows.

For a long moment a block of blazing light falls with romantic affection upon her glowing face. A deep blushing red spills onto the scene, her expression almost inaccessible. Half-seen in profile, her beauty becomes absolutely transcendental: the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely mysterious things. It inhabits a realm of romantic passion, charged with an overwhelming redness and a heightened tone. He is in thrall to her beauty forever.