The scene opens on a solitary figure in a white, windowless room. Dressed head to toe in black, mid-length hair hanging loosely above his shoulders, the man lifts his gaze from the floor. There’s a calm composure to his movements – the kind of self-assuredness that can only be attained by spending the best part of four decades saving the world, whether by massacring hordes of suits or reaching musical nirvana.
He sweeps the hair out of his face with both hands and casts his eyes towards the camera.
