Let me see it (2009) is more of an audioplay than a movie. The grainy images of Rosa Barba’s 16mm film Let me see it (2009) depict a seascape, a coastline ofan undefined location at night, where only the last red shimmers of the sun and the lights of the houses on the ground illuminate the scenery. We hear the drone of a sleepy narrator, telling a story about a man who loses his eyesight. The man's friend is helping him to memorize objects in his home which have been mislaid, in particular a strange object referred to as a dodecahedron which can no longer be visualized, nor described in words. It becomes crucial to the man's regression. The images of the night flight over an archipelago become a metaphor for the search for his memories and the fading of his formerly consistent world. It is an aerial perspective, filmed from the small cabin of a charter plane, which, irritatingly, hardly appears to move. The image seems to be held in one position, our gaze runs back over the same scenery, while the camera moves.
Time and place here become a sensation specific to this very moment, rather than a given structure through which perception gives itself an intelligible form. As we gaze at this aerial view, a deep, male voice narrates a story of haunting uncertainty, of an unplaceable object. The narrator urges an unseen protagonist, (someone of an unknown age, but small enough that he must be lifted to loo into a cupboard, yet who smokes) to reassess all other objects around him. [I wanted to see if it would lead] into the beauty of disintegration, into the unsettling sensations of its dramatized and intensified patterns of experience.