I don't know what it is with me and questionnaires but just lately they've been coming my way in droves. Well, not so much droves as more than one. Enough anyway to make me wonder if I really enjoy reading novels or poetry or watching drama or doing anything really quite as much as I enjoy the apparently straight forward, to the point nature of questionnaires, their attempt to sketch out a whole individual via the asking of a dozen or so questions and the wonderful enigma that each questionnaire actually produces, as every answer only creates more questions, at least for me.
Here is a poor man's Proust questionnaire with replies allegedly given by the film maker Tarkovsky in 1970. I'm not totally convinced by his idea of a woman's driving force, but I admit I've never made strange and extraordinary films relying on long, long single shots, so I will bow to him for now:
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