This public, which likes to pretend that it is a connoisseur of everything while it in fact does nothing but justify everything it has been forced to undergo, passively accepting the constantly increasing repugnance of the food it eats, the air it breathes and the dwellings it inhabits - this public grumbles about change only when it affects the cinema to which it has become accustomed. And in fact this is the only one of its' habits that seem to have been respected. For a long time I have been perhaps the only person to offend it in this domain. All the other film-makers, even those who are up-to-date enough to echo a few issues already made fashionable by the press, continue to presume the innocense of this public, continue to use the same old cinematic conventions to show it the same sort of distant adventures enacted by stars who have lived in its' place - stars whose most intimate affairs it can ogle through the media keyhole.

Guy Debord

from the film In Girum Imus Nocte Et Consumimur Igni (a medieval latin palindrome of unknown authorship which translates as We Turn In The Night And Are Consumed By Fire).