I am a woman who loves to create! I enjoy writing and soon filming subjects that give people food for thought, a new perspective and maybe a new way to view topics.
Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
Yes, I actually do. We were at my Aunt June’s house for my cousin’s birthday. After the party we settled in to watch The Wizard of Oz. I was mesmerized! Oh, that Wicked Witch and poor Dorothy and Toto with her friends, Lion, Scarecrow and Tinman off to see the Wizard.
Tell us about your project “The Enforcers”.
The Enforcers is about enforcers for loan sharks. Quiet and loyal, he does the loan shark’s bidding without question. Sometimes it just takes a nod of the head, and it is done. A woman who deals with a comatose son and his ever-rising medical costs goes to a loan shark she knows from her husband’s dealings with the shark. There are things happening behind the scenes she doesn’t know about and causes the situation to spiral out of control.
Which Director inspires you the most?
Hands down Alfred Hitchcock inspires me the most. I always looked forward to his movies and especially his tv show. I love to give my plots that Hitchcockian twist.
What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
I dislike the obsession people have with their cellphones. Social etiquette and interaction have slowly fallen to the wayside. Many of the younger generation in general don’t have the necessary social skills and can’t seem to function without a cellphone in their hands. They have FOMO and need to constantly check social media and messages.
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
Looking back over the decades of how much cinema has changed is mind blowing. We started with black and white silent movies with little to no special effects to amazing films, series and effects like in Star Wars, The Matrix, Terminator, The Lord of the Rings and so on.
I see special effects and clarity of images/films continue to evolve. I don’t see AI becoming mainstream but rather a different niche in the market. I think the techies will continue to try to implement its usage and it will become their genre.
What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
I love WILD FILMMAKER! They notice those that go beyond the ordinary and strive for excellence. I see WF continue to grow and become a household word much like Sundance and the Academy Awards. I will continue to participate with WF and cheer my fellow competitors to greatness.
David B. Williamson is an American screenwriter and psychological storyteller whose work explores trauma, identity, obsession, and emotional invisibility in the modern world. I grew up in an environment marked by instability and abuse. My father was violent, emotionally unpredictable, and deeply troubled. That trauma shaped my early understanding of the world—how silence can feel safer than truth, and how fear can live inside a home without ever being named. Years later, my father took his own life. That loss, and everything surrounding it, remains a defining undercurrent in my work. For a long time, I stepped away from filmmaking entirely to raise my family and survive emotionally. When I returned to writing, it wasn’t to chase industry trends —it was to make sense of experiences that don’t easily fit into neat narratives. My work now focuses on the unseen psychological systems that govern how people attach, dissociate, and search for connection. Cinema became the place where I could finally articulate what had been unspeakable.
Do you remember the moment you fell in love with cinema?
Cinema found me before I understood it. As a child, movies weren’t entertainment—they were shelter. In a household defined by volatility, film offered a space where emotion had structure and meaning. Even when stories were dark, they felt contained. They ended. They resolved in ways real life often did not. One of my earliest and most formative obsessions was Michael Jackson. I didn’t just love his music—I loved the worldaround it. What truly changed me wasn’t only the Thriller video itself, but the “Making of Thriller” VHS. I wore that tape out from watching it over and over again. I was fascinated not just by what I was seeing, but how it was made—how fear, performance, makeup, music, and storytelling combined to create something that felt both terrifying and beautiful. Thriller was directed by John Landis, who had also made An American Werewolf in London—a film that balanced horror, humor, and humanity in a way that felt electric to me, even as a child. That connection clicked instinctively. I realized that horror wasn’t just about monsters—it was about transformation, dread, and the fragile line between who we are and who we become. That was the moment cinema truly opened itself to me. Not as spectacle, but as craft. Watching the behind-the-scenes process taught me that fear could be designed thoughtfully, that emotion could be engineered with intention, and that storytelling was a language with rules you could learn—and then bend. Later, I understood that I wasn’t drawn to cinema because it was escapist, but because it was honest. Films allowed me to observe human behavior safely—to study fear, love, obsession, and survival from a distance. Horror, in particular, gave shape to emotions that were otherwise unnameable. Cinema didn’t save me—but it gave me language. And language is how healing begins.
Tell us about your project “Pretty Little Lucy”.
Pretty Little Lucy began as something deeply personal, but it quickly revealed itself to be something larger—a cautionary tale shaped by a cultural moment we’re still struggling to understand. The film is a psychological drama inspired by a real-life catfishing incident that unfolded over fifteen days and profoundly destabilized my sense of reality.
But rather than dramatizing the mechanics of the scam itself, the story focuses on the internal fallout—the emotional and psychological spiral that occurs when loneliness, unresolved trauma, and digital intimacy collide. At the time this was happening to me, I was also reading story after story about people who had been emotionally manipulated online—romance scams, long-term catfishing operations, and cases where victims were psychologically exploited to the point of financial ruin, public shame, or suicide. What struck me most was how often the aftermath was framed in terms of embarrassment rather than injury. There is a kind of emotional violence in these deceptions—an erosion of trust and selfhood—that rarely receives the language it deserves. In many ways, Pretty Little Lucy became my response to that pain. As a survivor of my father taking his own life, stories of people dying under the weight of shame and isolation are not abstract to me. They’re personal. Loss doesn’t stay contained to one event—it echoes. It reshapes how you recognize suffering in others. Watching victims of digital exploitation be dismissed, ridiculed, or reduced to cautionary headlines felt unbearably familiar. I knew what it meant for pain to go unseen until it was too late. The film explores how fantasy can become indistinguishable from truth when emotional needs go unmet—and how modern platforms and algorithms can quietly amplify vulnerability rather than protect against it. It asks uncomfortable questions about consent, emotional dependency, and what happens when someone finally feels seen in a world that has otherwise ignored them. What makes Pretty Little Lucy unusual is that it exists not only as a screenplay or future film, but as a documented transmedia phenomenon. The story gained visibility organically while it was still forming, becoming part of a real-time conversation about identity, deception, and psychological manipulation in the digital age. In a sense, the medium mirrored the message. At its core, the film isn’t about celebrity or scandal. It’s about the human cost of emotional isolation—and how devastating it can be when connection feels real, meaningful, and finally validating… only to collapse. Pretty Little Lucy doesn’t aim to shame victims or sensationalize deception. It’s an attempt to slow the conversation down long enough to replace judgment with understanding—and to remind us that behind every screen is a nervous system, a history, and a fragile need to be seen.
Which director inspires you the most?
David Fincher. Fincher’s work understands that dread doesn’t announce itself—it accumulates. His attention to detail, his patience with silence, and his trust in psychological tension rather than spectacle are rare. If Pretty Little Lucy were ever to be directed by someone else, Fincher would be my dream collaborator. His ability to translate internal collapse into visual language—to make obsession feel methodical rather than chaotic—is something I deeply admire and strive toward in my writing. Slow-burn dread is not easy to execute honestly. Fincher understands that the smallest moments often carry the most weight.
What do you dislike about the world, and what would you change?
I dislike how quickly pain is judged instead of understood. We live in a culture that demands explanations before offering empathy. Vulnerability is often misread as weakness—especially in digital spaces where nuance collapses and people are reduced to moments rather than contexts. Someone’s worst behavior becomes their entire identity, and the long chain of causes that led there is ignored. Over the years, I’ve been deeply affected by high-profile tragedies involving families who, from the outside, appeared successful, stable, even privileged—yet were quietly unraveling from within. In some cases, the violence didn’t come from strangers, but from children raised inside cycles of unaddressed trauma.
When those stories break, the public reaction is often outrage or disbelief, but rarely curiosity about how pain metastasizes when it goes untreated. That question has followed me into my own life and work. Working as a pharmacy technician, I’ve witnessed unnerving, intimate moments of human need—addiction stripped of metaphor. I’ve seen how dependency isn’t just chemical, but emotional and psychological. Many people aren’t chasing a high; they’re chasing relief from something unnamed. When personal needs go unmet long enough, they don’t disappear—they distort. Pain internalized over years often resurfaces as control, manipulation, or emotional numbness. In extreme cases, it can resemble sociopathy, not because someone was born monstrous, but because they were never taught how to process suffering safely. What troubles me most is how rarely we connect these dots. If I could change anything, it would be how we respond when someone admits they’re struggling—or when their behavior signals that they already are. I would slow the reflex to condemn and replace it with a willingness to listen longer than feels comfortable. This is why storytelling matters to me. Cinema, at its best, doesn’t excuse harm—but it contextualizes it. It allows us to sit inside discomfort long enough to understand cause and consequence without rushing to verdict. It creates space for empathy without erasing accountability. I believe film can slow the world down just enough to let compassion re-enter the conversation. And in a time when attention spans are shrinking and outrage travels faster than understanding, that slowdown might be one of the most radical acts we have left.
How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
Cinema will become more interactive, more personal, and more psychologically intimate. Technology will evolve, but the need for emotional truth will remain constant. I believe future cinema will blur boundaries between audience and narrative—allowing viewers not just to watch stories, but to emotionally engage with them in more personalized ways. The films that endure will be those that understand human psychology deeply. No matter how advanced media becomes, stories that speak honestly to fear, longing, and identity will always find an audience.
What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
WILD FILMMAKER represents something increasingly rare: space. It values voice over volume and intention over trend. In a media landscape driven by speed, WILD FILMMAKER allows cinema to breathe—to be examined thoughtfully rather than consumed quickly. That commitment to arthouse storytelling, emotional intelligence, and artistic risk is essential. It’s the kind of platform that understands cinema not as content, but as cultural memory.
At the heart of me, I really am an actor. I also write and direct but acting is my passion. I’ve always said that actors live in their own world. Actors get each other. As an actor, I have always been a sensitive, passionate person. Even as a kid, I felt things very deeply. I would watch a film and then lock myself in my room and act out all the parts with my action figures.
–Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
Yes. I was a little boy and I had seen both “Jaws” and “Jaws 2” on the big screen. I was completely mesmerized by every shot, every action and character. I remember the opening where Susan Backlinie who played the beautiful blonde Chrissie, decides to take the plunge and go for a midnight swim. Everything about this scene was movie magic to me – the photography, the lighting, the way she treads water completely unaware of the danger she is in. And then she is taken by an unseen shark. Wow, what a way to start a movie.
–Tell us about your project “Tightly Bound”.
This is a very intense film about domestic abuse that involves a husband and wife. I grew up playing a lot of all American good guys in independent films and theater. This was very different. I knew that my character was the antagonist (villain) but I didn’t want him to be one dimensional. So, I added layers to make sure you could see the cracks in his armor. Even with the most deplorable people, you can find a human being somewhere inside them. This was an exhausting shoot where I had no voice left at the end. With the intensity of my character, I managed to throw my back out. That being said, I was proud of my performance since I gave it my all and a shout out to my director, Joey Marino who sets up a great environment for actors to work in.
–Which Director inspires you the most?
There are several who inspire me. Robert Redford is one. I thought Ordinary People was a masterpiece. That was the first time I think I cried in the middle of a film. It was way ahead of its time and one of the first to talk about family dysfunction. Timothy Hutton and Mary Tyler Moore in particular, gave amazing performances. Even though at times you don’t like her character, it’s in her private moments that you see she is riddled with pain and is a victim herself.
George Lucas’s American Graffiti is a great piece of cinema. It’s almost like watching a documentary on a specific time in America that doesn’t exist anymore. It is the last moment of innocence. It also launched some of the biggest names in Hollywood e.g. Ron Howard, Cindy Williams, Richard Dreyfus, Harrison Ford.
Lastly, John Carpenter had a big impact on me. Halloween, (1978) really set the bar especially since it was an independent film. The music is iconic and the simplicity of the way the story was told – two girls babysitting (Jamie Lee Curtis and Nancy Loomis) across the street from each other encounter evil. Carpenter’s use of creepy blue lighting and the mood is so effective that you always worry that the girls are in danger. Setting the film in small town suburbia was very smart.
–What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
The threat of war and the lack of empathy and civility will destroy us all. We’re going backwards. We’re picking the bullies over the victims. I think as artists, it’s our job to provide commentary on today’s society and how we can change things.
-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
What I would hope for is that we go back to great storytelling. One thing that scares me is the rise of AI and CGI. If you notice, I tip my hat to films from the “70’s” which was a great decade in filmmaking. I think there’s a certain symmetry with independent films and these films. Often times today, I feel like I’m watching a video game which dilutes the characters and storyline. Where was the creative collective energy going? I hope we get back to that.
-What is your impression of WILD FILMMAKER?
I am beyond grateful for this opportunity. You are giving voice and a spotlight on a lot of artists and independent filmmakers that people might never know about. Your efforts may well save the future of cinema.
Whoever said Bach is boring? Come and find out with Bachanale, a show that blends rigor, brilliance and… tons and tons of irony. A concert? No. A music lesson? Not that either. Bachanale is a centrifugal journey into Bach’s music, an experience where the genius and complexity of the most rigorous composer in history come to life before your eyes — and ears. Amid dizzying fugues, playful sound experiments and crazy curiosities, Bachanale draws you into the most mathematical — and wild — music ever written, with guaranteed laughter and constant surprises. You don’t need any musical knowledge: just open your ears and let yourself be swept away by the rhythm, ingenuity, and irony of one of the greatest composers of all time. You’ll witness a show unlike any other: original, unconventional, and completely yawn-proof — capable of making you fall in love with his music. Throw yourself into the BACHANALE whirlwind: a musical show dedicated to Bach’s world, shaken into an explosive cocktail of MUSIC, STORYTELLING, and IRONY. The original format — already successfully presented in Italy and abroad — is entirely written and created by Maestro Mario Margiotta, who combines the role of pianist with that of music communicator. At the piano he performs Bach’s masterpieces while, at the same time, surprising, intriguing, and captivating the audience in a show that takes us back to the time and world in which Bach lived and wrote his immortal works — a music lesson as compelling as a movie.
Wednesday, January 14, 2026 | 8:30 p.m.
Teatro Ghione | Via delle Fornaci 37, Rome Duration: 90 minutes Ticket: €25
MARIO MARGIOTTA is a young and multifaceted artist from Bari who is steadily establishing himself — in the classical world and beyond — as a highly appreciated musician with one of the most original and unconventional formats around. He has created, tailor-made for himself, not just a concert, but a true musical show that blends recital and theatrical monologue, cultural storytelling and cabaret, in a performance that interweaves genres with strikingly effective and enjoyable results. Presented in numerous shows, the format has proven to be one of the most imaginative and appreciated by audiences, attracting critical attention to the point of being taken across Italy and abroad, receiving great acclaim everywhere — “a show that mixes music, cinema, theater, cabaret and education, in which Margiotta is musician, writer, director and actor… a complete showman always ready to amaze” (L’Edicola del Sud). Among his most recent performances are the commission of the musical show FelliniRota for the Italian Cultural Institute in Cairo and for the Dante Alighieri Society in Biel/Bienne (Switzerland); the shows Bachanale, Notturno con Chopin, FelliniRota, and Schumann/Carnaval, all staged at the Arena della Pace in Bari to sold-out audiences of over 700 spectators; his appearance at the prestigious Circolo dei Rozzi in Siena with Notturno con Chopin; and his participation in the renowned festival Il libro possibile in Polignano a Mare, alongside figures such as Umberto Galimberti, Walter Veltroni, and Erri De Luca. His YouTube channel, where he uploads clips from his musical shows, has now exceeded 700,000 views.
I come from an Algerian and French heritage, am twenty two years old and passionate about filmmaking but especially writing. I think the writing is the knitting of a craft whether it’s a movie, book, or video game. My favourite story told is actually a video game, Life is Strange 2, where two brothers are confronted to a terrible event that causes dramatic changes in their lives. I’ve been doing theatre ever since I was a kid and I think that’s where I got my love for writing.
-Do you remember the exact moment you fell in love with cinema?
When I saw La Grande Magie by Noémie Lvovsky, I knew theatre could propel me somewhere, but cinema was something else. It’s a love letter to both genres: the three acts, but also not a unity of time and place, it’s literally using the magic of both genres to make a magnificent musical. I don’t think I’ll ever like a film more, but I’m open to surprises.
-Tell us about your project “Tutti Frutti”.
Tutti Frutti is a reimagined version of Jacques Demy’s The Young Ladies of Rochefort, except I was frustrated with the ending… In my opinion, sisterhood or brotherhood should overcome everything. Maybe I’m too cheesy but I’d like to mention my brother who inspires me a lot in being successful and proud of yourself. My project puts Demy’s film in a modern atmosphere with addiction, isolation and strangers in a club. It’s very shiny, bright and bold, just like me. This is the project I’m most proud of so far!
-Which Director inspires you the most?
Ti West hands down. His Mia Goth trilogy is absolutely fabulous and a true homage to cinema. And the mantra as well: I will not accept a life I do not deserve—what a powerful line! It inspires me daily and I hope I’ll get the good life one day.
-What do you dislike about the world and what would you change?
At the minute, there are a lot of things I dislike: censorship, racism, sexism, oppression, genocide. It’s a very dark era we live into and I really do hope it will turn out good. Cinema lets us escape these dark themes, but they should not be forgotten.
-How do you imagine cinema in 100 years?
Sadly, I think small town cinemas will have closed and online streaming will have won. And don’t get me started on AI. I think the future is impossible to predict as things go by really fast and we don’t always have take the time to see through them properly.
