Alexander Zeldovich's film, where the words don't compete with the music — and one question is left standing: do you understand me?
The film is sparing with words, and the words in it don't carry their usual price or meaning. They ring out, and mean several things at once.
They don't need to compete with the music: it'll all be dressed in concrete anyway, and the rest will go to dust and take on a life of its own in an enormous sandpit.
The music runs level with everything else, and it makes no difference where you aim it. At the end there's one question left — do you understand me?
The answers won't keep you waiting, clearly — which raises the question of why the questions were needed.
In that case you could simply not have started, since it was settled in advance. Except there's one thing we don't know: was it?
So all that's left is asking, endlessly and badly, or shouting, hopelessly and to no purpose. For how long?
As long as the clock runs.
Elia Suleiman made a film whose hero changes almost nothing — which is exactly what leaves you alone with your own conclusions.
Leos Carax's film, in which the end of the story isn't the end of it — everybody sets their own.
Natalia Kudryashova's film — written in verse, about a city held down by snow, and about whether you're ready to get off the ground.
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