Excerpts from the film Lost in Time

One of the interpretations that I have considered, and that seems best so far, is a representation of the conscience (the protagonist) and the subconscious (the horse), dependent on each other. The two seem to have a relationship of mutual dependence, a false but nonetheless visceral fusion, the former giving the impression that it controls the latter – whereas it’s the opposite that happens with an unconscious part of the mind more powerful than reason in each of us. The conscious mind vainly attempts to exert its authority, abnegating, pushing back urges, blocking and finally abandoning the instinctive part, leaving it to dissolve in conformity. At the beginning of the narrative, the two elements seem to move through time and space at a confident pace. Powerful, dark and helmeted, they stand out in sharp contrast to the immaculate, undefined setting. But on their wild ride they come to understand that nothing actually awaits them and that all roads crisscross and lead nowhere; advancing with an increasingly indecisive, hesitant stride, they eventually disagree about which way to go. The rider fails to listen to his mount, to follow its instinct. He wears it out, until it abandons him by collapsing, exhausted, renouncing the failed quest in an endless blizzard. The protagonist forges on, alone.