[Don] Quixote seems a bizarre fellow at first acquaintance, but most of those who come into contact with him end up half converted to his way of thinking, and therefore half quixotic themselves. If there is any lesson he teaches, it is that in the interest of a better, more lively world it might not be a bad idea to cultivate in oneself a capacity for dissociation, not necessarily under conscious control, even though this might lead outsiders to conclude that one suffers from intermittent delusions.

Fra essayet Gabriel Garcia Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores

Despite all the cleverness that has been exercised in film theory since the 1950s to bring film into line as just another system of signs, there remains something irreducibly different about the photographic image, namely that it bears in or with itself the trace of a real historical past. That is why the horse-capturing sequences of The Misfits are so disturbing: on the one side, out of the field of the camera lens, a gang of horse-wranglers and directors and writers and sound technicians united in trying to fit the horses into places that have been prescribed for them in a fictional construct called The Misfits; on the other side, in front of the lens, a handful of wild horses who make no distinction between actors and stuntmen and technicians, who don't know about and don't want to know about a screenplay by the famed Arthur Miller in which they are or are not, depending on one's point of view, the misfits, who have never heard of the closing of the Western frontier but are at this moment experiencing it in the flesh in the most traumatising way. The horses are real, the stuntmen are real, the actors are real; they are all, at this moment, involved in a terrible fight in which the men want to subjugate the horses to their purpose and the horses want to get away; every now and again the blonde woman screams and shouts; it all really happened; and here it is, to be relived for the ten thousandth time before our eyes. Who would dare say it is just a story?

Fra essayet Arthur Miller, The Misfits