AmoreFebruary 2026

The format was invented backwards: take away the guests, the timeline and the seating plan, then see what is left. There was one question: what if a celebration is not about the number of people at all? What was left was two of them, an empty auditorium and an evening assembled like a short film.

It starts in the corridor of a cinema. Red carpet, wooden doors, posters in glass cases — one of them Cléo from 5 to 7. She is in a white satin dress with a stand collar and long black gloves, he is in a black tuxedo with a bow tie. Red tulips lie on the floor where they were put down.

On the way to the hall there is a photo booth with a red curtain and bulbs around the mirror. While the strip of black-and-white frames develops there is time for a second look: a short sequined dress, red tights, the same red lipstick. Here the waiting works as part of the script rather than a pause in it.

Inside, instead of seats, rows of red director’s chairs. The lights go down, an old black-and-white film runs, and from there they simply watch it together: popcorn flies up, the tub passes from hand to hand, someone turns to the camera. Between scenes a clapperboard against the red curtain: all of this was shot as a film too.

Towards the end a veil appears — plain tulle over the shoulders, warm light, dark red velvet behind. Then the hall empties: popcorn on the floor between the chairs, two rows of red fabric, the title “Private Screening” over the last frame. In the corner of every shot there is a date, like on old amateur film.

There were two guests. And exactly as many in the audience.