Director's Note 　　 　　“Our whole life can be nothing but one continued dream. Perhaps at the instant of death, we shall awake, and then see all that we believed real was nothing but a dream.” 　　Fénelon, Dialogues of the Dead (1712) 　　MUSA is the love story of two men, Simos and Musa, who probably met one night in an elusive, secretly erotic place. We follow them closely, during their first intimate moments. As their relationship evolves and they are living together, Musa strives to fit within unfamiliar circumstances, while Simos tries to control his possessiveness and enduring fear of losing his lover. Whenever his rationalization proves insufficient as a instrument for handling his crises, Simos opens the door that separates fantasy from reality and channels his fears into his dreams, which sooner or later become haunting nightmares. 　　All love stories have elements of mystery and a dark side. Love goes with loss. 　　Loss of the significant other, loss of desire, loss of self, up to the conclusion of all human drama: death. I wanted to tell this story the way we tend to remember our own love stories: not in a linear way, but in a spiral form, where fragments of reality, memories and fantasies 　　are put together, compressed in a short period of time. This aspect places MUSA in the vein of Hitchcock’s Vertigo, Verhoeven’s Turkish Delight, Lynch’s Mullholand Drive and Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers. 　　When narrating a real event, we keep adding complementary, invented incidents and we keep recounting that same story over and over again, becoming eventually unable to discern the real from the imaginary parts. We end up believing the whole story as unquestionably true, because we need to interpret it in a way that makes sense and enables us to overcome the terrible trauma of loss. This is the case with all our personal stories; this is also the case with the history of humanity.