Ryan McGinley: This guy I used to photograph a lot got kicked out because he did a performance in class where he called his mom and told her he was committing suicide.
Pier Paolo Pasolini: What he really did was a caricature of himself.
McGinley: Well, no. That was his thing.
Pasolini: Let me explain. He had to—for example—take 10 steps forward, or move, or look at someone.
McGinley: None of that stuff comes into play until later.
Pasolini: To get back to Christ, once I had chosen the person whose essence or interior was more or less that needed to play the part of Christ, I never obliged him to do any specific things.
McGinley: The first year was transitioning out of that and realizing I had to dedicate my life to something else.
Pasolini: But always point by point, particular by particular, never the whole thing.
McGinley: Do we have to shoot every time anything happens?
Pasolini: The question is too vast. It’s impossible.
McGinley: Because art school is so fucking expensive.
Pasolini: Because in the cinema—at least in my cinema—the truth always comes out sooner or later.
McGinley: Because it was such a secret in the suburbs.
Pasolini: They rang false. All you have to do is love them.
McGinley: They have this kind of openness.