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There aren't any central characters, just a continual stream of people vividly played by a sparky cast. Standouts include Plesnyaeva as an unfeasably glamorous woman living in a cramped apartment full of refugees then working for a callous official (Dubovsky). A young businessman (Zamurayev) tries to track down his stolen car, which the army has no intention of returning. And then there's the man (Antoniuk) labeled a fascist and tied to a pole, where he's abused by passers-by, including young people who take selfies and old women who are much crueller.

Many sequences are shot in a single long take. They are increasingly violent and disturbing, as people express anger and frustration at the injustice around them. One of the more outrageous scenes involves a garishly smiley wedding with a boisterous crowd of gun-toting revellers. And the story cycles back to the actors from the opening scene, with a chilling twist. With this compulsively mesmerising film, Loznitsa has tapped into his nation's beleaguered soul in a way that's immediately recognisable in the global post-truth era.

themes, language, violence

16.Apr.19

Performances are subtle and realistic, never overplaying the more dramatic moments. This adds real emotion to moments of violence or tragedy. Rodriguez brings soft honesty to Marcos, remaining steely in intense conflicts. And Saavedra adds a powerful kick as a harshly no-nonsense woman who simply refuses to let him be himself outside the house. Of course, Marcos can't comply. Meanwhile, the other men are grappling with their masculinity, and the actors play them with bracing complexity.

The narrative takes some heavy turns, with scenes that are darkly disturbing or silently tense. The plot structure is somewhat meandering, following Marcos' internal journey more than the specific sequence of events he is grappling with. The metaphor of the family's new house being identical to the neighbours is a little on-the-nose. But while some of the knee-jerk reactions feel a little simplistic, the point is clearly made that many people are simply unaware that they are cruel bigots. And for their victims, survival can cause extreme reactions.

themes, language, violence, sexuality

17.Apr.19

Because of the nature of the story, performances are tightly contained. These people don't want anyone to know how they feel, but the actors skilfully offer clues to the audience. Using full physicality, they swim, run, dance and circle around each other, having partial conversations in which they reveal but fail to deal with their repressed feelings. So even if the characters feel undefined, their yearnings are often unnervingly clear. And the various bombshells they drop are powerful. "Why do we lie so much when we love someone?" David asks.

Alves' script plays with the idea that these people think they have dealt with their past issues, when actually they have merely ignored them. So David's impending return brings everything up again, complicated because each person feels a sense of ownership of his memory. Alves also takes a remarkably open approach to attraction and sexuality, refusing to draw the usual lines or paint his characters into boxes. This gives the film a blast of authenticity that, even if it's just out of reach, is deeply moving.

themes, language, sexuality

7.Mar.19