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Behind a softly lit control panel, hushed and expectant, the director Luca Guadagnino sat with editors and listened for breath noises at the start of his new film. The studio was dark. The screen, too large for those assembled, glowed. Outside, a hard late-winter rain fell on Rome, joining with the patter of an onscreen storm, as if the line between the real world and the imagined one were weakening, bleeding, beginning to leak.
The editors were adding into the mix passing noises of human exchange: footfalls, paper rustlings, a little gasp, a sigh. She is drenched from a storm outside. Rain has always had a special significance for Guadagnino, because he spent the first five years of his life in Ethiopia, and it rained there all the time.
He was born two months prematurely, and links water with the womb. The scene played again. Guadagnino fussed over the cutting of the dialogue. He was dressed in a gray woollen hoodie and loose navy pants, cable-knit like a sweater.
He is slightly more than six feet tall, and gangly, with the posture of a bearskin tossed across a chair: he slumps and drapes and dangles. For some years now, he has worn a beard, gray-dusted, and a fizz of thinning brown hair.