Hopefully this letter will reach you, wherever you are now.

I've always wished I could thank you in person. This is obviously going to sound eulogistic and I have to apoligize for that. Your only flaw might, indeed, be the fact that you're no longer among us.

It pleases me to think that by passing away you found the ultimate truth. This missing piece of puzzle that even Arthur C. Clarke couldn't apprehend in 2001, a masterpiece you've manage to turn into a mystical encounter between knowledge and God.

It pleases me to remind of the almost erotic joy I felt when I first watched Barry Lindon. The music, flowing right down my belly. The picture, litteraly from outer space since you used Nasa's cameras, transcended anything we had seen before.

It pleases me to remind of the acting in Full Metal Jacket. You've brushed two american idols, Gomer Pyle and Joker with anything but deep knowledge of what is at stake inside the human soul. You've also built a cultural figure of modern warfare : the drill Sergent. To the point that nowadays, drill sergeants don't even know if it's their predecessors that inspired your work or if it's Sergeant Hartman and you who defined the genre and role.

It pleases me to remind of James Mason struggling with his own desire for Sue Lyon. It relates to my own experience to a point where I cannot give further details.

It pleases me to remind of Bill and Alice. In your very last masterpiece. Men are predators, men are lost, men are cowards, men don't dare, and when they find their power, they rip the world apart.

Now, to cut short, I can only quote Alice in Eyes Wid Shut, which is, ironically, the last word pronounced in you last movie : FUCK.

Yours sincerely.