As I gaze upon the icon of the Entrance of the Theotokos into the Temple, I am struck by the profound simplicity of its message. A young girl, only a child, enters the House of God and remains there. The legend tells us that an angel was with her at all times—not figuratively, but literally. Because of this, when the Archangel Gabriel appeared to Mary at the Annunciation, she was not surprised.

She had grown up in the Temple to eventually become a Temple herself, carrying within her the Son of God. The depth of her purity is beyond human comprehension!

Recently, I attended a screening of student films at a film school. One of the short films was set entirely in a dimly lit room with a red hue. It looked almost like a darkroom, as if one were developing film there. But no, it was the setting for the protagonist’s home. He was tormented by strange creatures—actors dressed in black, pushing him to commit terrible acts.

During the discussion of the film, the jury members mentioned that the character was in an altered state of consciousness. The director, however, disagreed, insisting that this was not an altered state. This, he argued, was the character’s reality. A clinical psychologist in the audience then intervened, diagnosing the character with acute hallucinatory psychosis. But the director stood firm in his view—no, this was his reality.

In that moment, I thought I understood the source of the disagreement. A film, especially a narrative film, is essentially an X-ray of the director’s soul. Each individual has their own inner world. It is possible, in this earthly life, to live as if already in the Heavenly Kingdom, seeing angels, just like the Virgin Mary. On the other hand, one might exist in hell, trapped in a crimson twilight, tormented, seeing demons around them and believing it to be normal, to be their reality.

This isn't about mental illness; it's about the spiritual state. I once heard that psychiatric hospitals used to distinguish between the mentally ill and those possessed by demons in this way: they would offer a glass of holy water. Those suffering from mental illness would drink it calmly, while the possessed would shatter the glass, falling into violent fits.

It is a terrifying thing to reveal one’s inner world. It is even more frightening to potentially confuse, disturb, or lead astray the viewer with that world. There is such a weight of responsibility. It made me reflect deeply, seeking to bring order to my own soul with God’s help. I long to create films that carry light, the light of Christ.

Filmmakers, as the directors of their worlds, have a profound responsibility—much like the angel tasked with guiding the Theotokos—to reflect truth and light in their work, without succumbing to the darker realities that might be reflected in their own souls.

 Original article: radiovera.ru/rentgen-dlja-rezhissera-natalija-langammer.html