I think he’d love to find [his humanity], but I don’t think he believes that he will, so he fictionalizes it and he manifests it in his scrapbook, almost like a fairy tale or a daydream he might have. I think that deep down, Richard is a really caring, good person. There was and will never be another war like the Great War: hand-to-hand combat, trench warfare. It was bloody and horrific. For most of these soldiers—18 or 19 years old—when you’re sent to something like that, it’s very hard to live a normal life, doing what you’ve done. With him, I think he has a really good heart. But now he can only do the one thing he’s good at, which is killing. It’s the only thing he’s capable of relating to, essentially. If you’re good at something and you haven’t got anything else, what can you do except that? And his guns are his friends. He’s so methodical about listing those guns; they are what have filled up those missing parts of his soul. It’s where he feels comfortable living.