Reviews

"No One's With the Calves" is a powerful film about a young woman, who - partly by bad luck, partly by lack of self-determination - is confined to live in a place where she does not seem to belong and from which she therefore wants to escape. But here again she is lacking a concrete plan and is condemned to just sit back and wait for a happy coincidence. This longed-for opportunity appears one day in the form of wind power worker Klaus, and when she willingly has rough sex with him in an abandoned barn, she might indeed see the possibility to get away from her rural and emotional wasteland. For Jan, the young man with whom and whose parents she lives on a farm, offers no help and does not fulfill her emotional needs. But neither does Klaus, who eventually disappears without leaving a trace.

In order to free herself from these living conditions, which are unhealthy for her in many ways, Christin, the protagonist, is ultimately left entirely on her own. And the final images of the film show that she has in fact succeeded: We see her driving away in her car towards an uncertain destination.

Following the protagonist's life in this desolate environment in every detail was in itself an overwhelming experience for me as a viewer. But I could not just stop there, I also felt the urge to read the novel which this film is based on, written by Alina Herbig and published in 2017. It is semi-biographical, because she spent part of her childhood and youth in such a rural area. And I even became more involved in the life and dreams of Christin, because not only does the novel provide a much deeper insight by offering a larger number of details, it also has the power of words, something which a cinematographic experience can hardly attain.

To make this literary experience more palpable, I will just translate and reproduce the last lines of the novel: "The sun is back and glittering in the drops on my engine hood. It's warm and dry inside. I roll down the window and drive off, past the blackberry bushes onto the new path. My tires lurch through the clay and I keep slipping off the track into the charred stubble, holding the steering wheel and steering against it. The cherry brandy bottle rocks back and forth and I want to stop again to have a little drink and think about everything again, but then I remember what Jan once explained to me when we were crossing the field with the tractor in spring. "You only get stuck if you drive too slowly." So I just keep getting faster."

And yes, reading this passage and seeing Christin speeding away in front of our inner eye, will give us some kind of hope for her future. Although now embracing the uncertainty of the unknown, the image of her driving faster, guided by Jan's advice to avoid getting stuck by moving forward, symbolizes Christin's determination to confront the challenges ahead and carve out a new path for herself.

Being classified by not a small number of critics or users as "too slow, lengthy, boring and definitely too long" and by many others as a masterpiece of art, this is definitely a film that divides minds. Having watched this version of the famous classic now for the fifth time and firmly anchoring it in my top ten list of favourite movies of all time, I am clearly on the side of those who praise the film.

What particularly fascinates me in this movie is the emphasis on a raw, untamed kind of love, deviating from the more romanticized portrayal seen in other adaptions, and the way it is presented against the background of an unbridled nature. The central love story between Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw - especially in their early stages as young adolescents - is portrayed as passionate and almost animalistic. The characters' connection is deeply rooted in their wild surroundings, reflecting the detached nature of their emotions.

We can say that the landscape in Arnold's adaptation becomes a character in itself, playing a crucial role in the unfolding of the narrative. The wild and desolate moors surrounding Wuthering Heights are not just a backdrop but a reflection of the characters' inner turmoil and the turbulent nature of their relationships. The harsh, unforgiving environment serves as a metaphor for the intense emotions and struggles within the characters.

The film also utilizes the desolate landscape to underscore the theme of isolation. The characters, particularly Heathcliff, are often shown wandering through the vast moors, emphasizing their emotional and physical detachment from society. The isolation imposed by the landscape contributes to the characters' sense of alienation and adds to the overall melancholic atmosphere of the film.

Coming back to the portrayal of love, we can state that unlike some more restrained versions, Arnold's film doesn't shy away from the sensuality and physicality of the characters' relationships. And the landscape becomes a canvas for their intimate moments, heightening the connection between the characters and their surroundings. This approach contributes to the film's more explicit and gritty portrayal of love.

In summary, Andrea Arnold's "Wuthering Heights" offers a unique representation of love, which can be classified as visceral and primal. It uses the untamed landscape to mirror the characters' intense emotions. The harsh moors, isolation, and sensual elements contribute to an innovative interpretation that stand out from more conventional adaptations of Emily Brontë's classic novel.

Although my reading of Dostoevsky's novel "Crime and Punishment" took place almost half a century ago, the thematic connection between the two works of art struck me at once, especially when watching the last scene of the Dardennes' film, the one that took place in prison, where Bruno's girlfriend Sonia was visiting him, and where he starts sobbing.

In "Crime and Punishment," the also called Sonia is a character who plays a crucial role in the moral and spiritual development of Raskolnikov, the impoverished student and protagonist, who has committed a heinous crime and then grapples with the psychological and philosophical consequences. In the novel's conclusion, Raskolnikov confesses his crime to her and experiences a profound sense of guilt and remorse. Sonia's presence is pivotal in this transformation, as she represents compassion, forgiveness, and redemption.

In "L'enfant," the protagonist also shows signs of remorse in the final scene. He may not be a student like Raskolnikov and his intellectual and moral faculties seem limited, which especially can be seen when, after the concluded deal of the baby-selling, he is offering to his girlfriend the option of "making another one". He is unable to foresee the consequences of his action, not having any notion of the existence of the emotional connection of a woman that is carrying her child.

"Crime and Punishment" was dealing with the murder of an old woman, a pawnbroker whose money he could use to realize his material desires. In "L'enfant" Bruno gets a significant sum for selling the baby with which he could provide a carefree life for himself and his girlfriend. But, although the baby, being transmitted to an adoptive family, will actually survive, Bruno's transaction can also be called a "murder", because for Sonia the baby is like dead and cannot be recuperated, a painful realization that leads to her breakdown.

It is now that Bruno goes on a similar emotional journey like Raskolnikov, leading him first to setting about to do everything to retrieve the baby and eventually to the final redemptory scene. It seems that the Dardenne brothers may have drawn inspiration from Dostoevsky's exploration of guilt, redemption, and the transformative power of empathy.

It rarely happens that days after watching a movie, its scenes and words have become so ingrained in the mind that they replay again and again or continue to be clearly audible. But that's exactly what happens with "Ma nuit", a life-affirming, symbolic film set in Paris.

The night reflects the emotional state of 18-year-old protagonist Marion. Her sister died five years ago, today would be her twenty-third birthday. Marion's mother has invited some of her sister's former friends, but Marion doesn't want anything to do with them, she leaves.

Still in the afternoon she meets friends, somewhere in Paris, but they are all girls with whom it is difficult to communicate because there is nothing really profound they have to say to each other. They are unable to alleviate Marion's existential ailments.

How should life continue from here, how should the future be filled? Is it even worth being confronted? These are questions Marion asks herself, and one gets the impression that she seriously considers that it would make sense to follow her sister into death.

Marion follows her friends and goes to a wild party. She dances, takes drugs and at some point is so exhausted that she just wants to lie down somewhere. Then finally she has had enough, leaves the house, goes out into the dark streets of the night.

Going home now? You don't know that exactly, the quarrel she had with her mother at the beginning of the film actually speaks against it. On the contrary, it seems as if she wants to walk along the streets of Paris forever, until this seemingly endless night will finally be over.

Suddenly a young man appears, Alex, one who also was at the party and who somehow had noticed Marion. Why is he following her, does he want to seduce her quickly and then disappear into the night, or has he found a soul mate in Marion?

Marion suspects the former, brushes him off and continues on her way. Then chance comes to their aid, Marion is attacked by two young people, Alex rescues her. But he doesn't pay attention to his parked motorcycle, and it gets stolen. Now the two are linked by fate, they go through the night together, and gradually an intellectual exchange takes place, one that makes clear that Alex also has fears about the future: he wonders how life on a planet that is heading for an ecological disaster will henceforth be possible.

Then Marion is suddenly alone again and she has a nightmarish vision. She hears a shot, people run into the street in a panic, a getaway car drives towards her, she tries to escape, falls, hits her head hard on the asphalt. A symbol for the fears of an entire generation?

But Alex comes back, takes her to the hospital, where an empathetic nurse takes care of her and gives her the right advice for her state of mind. As long as there are people to take care of you when things are going badly, nothing is lost.

Now Alex and Marion are starting to become friends, and there's even a memorable scene in which they both have fun and laugh together - in a kind of hide-and-seek game from Alex's hard-of-hearing roommate. In the morning, Marion separates from Alex, knowing that she has found a companion. In the final shots, she is skating buoyantly through the now daylight streets of Paris, and then suddenly stops and smiles, raising her arm to the light-filled sky, knowing that her personal night is now as much a thing of the past as her personal trauma - and that life for her can finally commence.

Same as the more recent "Warsaw 44", by Jan Komasa, this first Andrzej Wajda film deals with an authentic event: the collapse of the uprising of the Polish underground army against the German occupiers in September 1944.

When it turns out that a Warsaw suburb can no longer be held, Lieutenant Zadra is ordered to reach the city center through the canal system. Wajda dedicates two thirds of his film to this dramatic march, examining the various possibilities of human behavior in the face of death.

The simplest and shortest way out is to flee to certain death, a kind of suicide: a soldier who has had enough of wading and stumbling around in the stinking broth tries to escape through the nearest exit. It is guarded, however, and so the fugitive is greeted by a volley of machine guns, which immediately throws him back into the just abandoned broth, the only difference being that he is now protected from all the rubbish and poison (the Germans let gas into the sewer system!), feeling nothing.

The composer Michal, who got into this adventure only by accident, escapes into madness: he hears a melody in the distance and trills it, stumbling further and further through the canal in a circle, without himself being aware of the situation. Even friends are not recognized by him, orders to come back are not heard.

For others, the path of suffering is much harder. Ensign Korab has to drag himself injured through the labyrinth. He is accompanied by his girlfriend Stokrotka, who breathes new zest for life into him again and again. In the end they come to the river Weichsel, which promises a way out. However, an iron grating prevents them from moving forward and Stokrotka can only tell her friend about the green meadow behind the grating. It is not possible to get there, the cruel rules of the game of war prevented it.

Wajda's film therefore not only shows human behavior in an extreme situation (another one would be the merciless egoism, which, losing all respect for the life of others, is only concerned with saving one's life at all costs), it's an anti-war film too. At the end of the day, Lieutenant Zadra has to realize that he has lost his company, that he is alone, just as the war, which at the beginning still has collective features, later becomes more and more an individual tragedy.

However, "Kanal" is much more than a mere film about war; an additional dimension endows it with a parable character. The canal becomes the path of life, on which the human being, hindered by dirt and feces, jumps around badly and desperately, searching desperately for an exit. Only those are happy here who are not aware of their situation, such as the composer Michal, who has given up striving for salvation, no longer caring about the meaning and purpose of the company.

For everyone else, the struggle for survival continues, as does the search for a better life. However, the paths to reach it are blocked, like it is shown in the scene when the iron grating prevents any progress to the green meadow on the other side of the river Weichsel, comdemning the humans to the cesspool as their only living space.

"The Sweet Hereafter" is another denomination for paradise, as it is to be enjoyed in afterlife. In the Robert Browning poem about the Pied Piper, which is read by Nicole, the only child surviving the bus accident, one of the kids is lame and cannot follow the call of the Piper. It is therefore "bereft of all the pleasant sights they see" and henceforth has to endure the dullness of life in a town that has been deprived of all playmates.

The same happens to Nicole, who will be confined to a life in a wheelchair while the entire young population of the little town of Sam Dent, British Columbia, is now enjoying the pleasures of heaven. Her sadness is understandable, but it is equally plausible that it should lead to anger and the urge to revenge.

It is obviously the lawyer Mitchell Stephens that provokes her indignation. He can also be seen as a kind of pied piper, but not one whose commitment leads to the entrance of paradise. His goal is the fulfillment of earthly materialistic pleasures, and therefore he tries to persuade the relatives of the deceased children to file a lawsuit against the bus company for damage. In case of success, he would also benefit from the verdict and encash one third of the allocated sum.

The necessity of mourning for the bereaved ones has been substituted by sheer business matters, and the greed for money has become the new incentive. And it is Stephens who has to be blamed for that change of disposition.

But there is no compensation possible for the loss of human life. Nicole understands that and makes a fateful decision. Being chosen as a chief witness and asked in a pretrial-hearing about the circumstances of the bus accident, Nicole consciously gives a false testimony accusing the bus driver of having driven at excessive speed. Now the planned trial against the bus company cannot take place, and Mitchell Stephen's materialistic dreams are shattered.

Standing in clear opposition to the girl, whose desire it is to get access to heaven, that lawyer can truly be considered an advocate of hell. We get introduced to him when, right at the beginning, he is trapped in a car wash whose mechanism cannot be brought to a halt. It is here that he gets the first cellular phone call by his daughter Zoe who is equality trapped, as her drug addiction and her later-revealed AIDS infection has led her to a dead end of her life from which no deliverance route seems to be attainable.

Certainly her father can do nothing to help her. When Zoe, whose name ironically means "Life", tries to contact him, we can see that her phone booth is located in a rundown area of a larger city - an image that can be seen as a metaphor for the desolation of her inner state of mind. She addresses herself to her father out of utter helplessness, and it is deplorable to see that he is unable to respond. The only thing he can do for her is to "accept the charges" for the call - another indication of a mind set only on materialistic issues but not prepared to offer the much needed spiritual help.

Zoe nevertheless does make an attempt. She reminds her daddy of a childhood memory when they both were inside a car wash and she "started playing with the automatic window" - a story that, if we accept the car wash as an image for hell, reveals her strong desire of escape and thus approximates her character to the children willingly seduced by the Pied Piper.

However, Mitchell Stephens is incapable of establishing a meaningful communication with his daughter - he thinks that she is merely "calling for money". It is only much later that he comes to a heart-breaking insight. When accidentally meeting a former childhood friend of Zoe on an airplane, he recalls another memory from the past, this time when his then three-year-old daughter nearly died from a spider bite. Although he does not clearly reveal it, the spectator senses that Zoe has now finally succumbed to her drug addiction - and therefore become just another victim of the Pied Piper's power of attraction.

Some crew members are playing a video game, just to while away the time that is getting long on a ship journey such as this. In the background, a guy, probably in his late 30s, is sitting quietly, having a smoke. He does not participate in the game, does not even care to listen to the exclamations of his comrades. In fact, he does not do anything. After some time, seemingly bored, he gets up and leaves the room, unnoticed.

This scene, right at the beginning of Lisandro Alonso's 4th feature film, already says a lot about Farrel. He is a man that nobody cares about and, conversely, that does not care about anyone either. Or does he?

Does he have any passions? In his cabin, there is just one picture on the wall, probably cut out from a magazine, showing an Asian beauty. What is the connection between her and Farrel? The only thing that we now know for sure now is that he is a far-traveled man.

Does he have any human relationships? A few days later, we find out that he obviously has a daughter, a mentally handicapped one, called Analía. She lives in a remote part of Patagonia, together with her demented grandmother and an older guy called Trujillo who apparently looks after both of them. Where is Analía's mother? Has she left the country like her father did?

Because Farrel, and so much is certain, has definitely left the place of his childhood and ventured out into the big world even before his daughter was born. He became a seaman and has never felt the urge to come back and assume responsibilities. Until one day his ship approaches his native Patagonia again, and availing himself of the opportunity of its resting at the harbor of Ushuaia for a few days, he asks his superior for leave in order to find out "whether my mother is still alive."

Ushuaia, considered the world's southernmost city, is shown as an inhospitable place, abounding with frost and snow. The place, as well as the surrounding countryside, may well be seen as an effigy of Farrel's soul which is equally cold and uncommunicative. He is never seen in a friendly conversation with anyone or even trying to establish a contact that goes beyond a mere asking for the information that is needed in order to continue his journey. It is a significant scene when he is waiting to get a lift, a young woman, Mariela, is waiting in the same room, watching TV, while he is sipping a coffee. Then the truck that will take them is announced, and for a little while they are walking alongside towards it, but not a single word is exchanged. Mariela is then allowed to sit in the driver's cab, while Farrel has to content himself with the load floor. This physical separation is another indicator for Farrel's estrangement from humanity.

His behavior when finally at his home village is rather peculiar. Instead of revealing his identity, he prefers a secret approach, hiding himself in a shed. Just before freezing to death, he is found by Trujillo and brought into the house, where he slowly recovers but feigns to be unconscious when Trujillo addresses him, showing his recognition but also his disdain towards Farrel.

While his dying mother is unable to recognize her son, there is some indication that Analía has an understanding of the fact that she is confronted with her father. When Farrel places a freshly bought loaf of bread on the kitchen table, she does not touch it but instead requests some money, a demand that the visitor eventually grants her. Why should he do so? Is it a feeling of guilt that determines his actions? After all, he shirked his responsibility for the family when he decided to leave the village without leaving any trace.

Apart from the money, Farrel hands over another gift to the girl, before disappearing forever into the remoteness of the landscape: a key-chain, whose letters form the name of an English port city: L-I-V-E-R-P-O-O-L. It is unlikely that the retarded Analía knows the significance of this word, so it is up to the spectators to provide some meaning to it. Farrel has obviously bought it on one of his journeys, and more than just leaving a personal item of his as a sign of attachment it also conveys a message: It stands for his conscious decision to leave the limitations of his village and his family life behind and find a new destination - a resolution whose moral implications have to be judged individually by each viewer.

This film being released only two days ago, I haven't been able to read any reviews yet, so these first thoughts about my vision of it can be considered as absolutely virginal, so to speak… First of all, "Catching Fire" being a literary adaptation, the audience should be divided into two groups, the "virginal ones" who haven't even touched the novel and the so-called experienced readers. I count myself to the latter group, having read the book two years ago and even re-read the summaries of each chapter that I had written at that time as a sort of preparation for the movie session. It goes without saying that I also read the first part of the trilogy (twice) and seen the first movie (four times).

Profiting from all this expertise I was able to find my way through the new film easily. I got involved, or even "caught fire", right from the beginning, when, in a hunting episode, an appalling visualization of one of Katniss's nightmares was set on screen: when targeting a prey, she suddenly sees a tribute victim that she had killed in the past Games instead of the animal and gets a nervous breakdown.

As the traumatizing process of the protagonist was a big concern of the novel, this can be considered a good start of the movie. But later on the film does not really dwell on that, because there simply is not enough time. I can recall only one scene, when, being on the train, Katniss wakes up in the middle of a dream and shouts for help and is then comforted by Peeta, who crawls into her bed.

Then there is a quick cut, and we move on to the next scene. Almost all important elements of the novel are at least mentioned, but not given the due time to be fully developed. As an example, let's just take Katniss's "torn-between-two-lovers-conflict", which is sufficiently explored in the novel by the means of introspection but which for the "virginal" group of movie spectators must feel like pretty much unexplainable.

The same happens to the characters. They are mostly present in the movie, though maybe at a low scale. Important new protagonists like Finnick and Johanna Mason are introduced in short key scenes which correspond exactly to the words of the novel. You get a good impression of Johanna's rebellious character when you see her undress in the elevator. But then there is not much room for further development, and minor characters like Wiress or Mags do not even get that kind of exposition and sadly do not leave a great deal of mental imprint in the end.

The problem is that the movie has hardly got more than two hours at its disposal in order to tell the whole story. It should have run at a slower pace, allowing itself to create more atmosphere. The first part of the trilogy, directed by Gary Ross in 2011, was better at this, for instance when it depicted the mood of decadence that was reigning in the Capitol in a way that even the Suzanne Collins novel was unable to perform.

Fortunately, the "Mockingbird" dish will be served in two mouthfuls. I can only hope that this decision was not motivated by economical reasons but by the intention to pay true cinematographic respect to an epic masterpiece.

17-year-old Jîn takes part in the Turkish-Kurdish conflict as a Kurdish guerrilla fighter. But she wants to leave it all behind and seek refuge in another part of the country...

But more than a documentary observation about an actual war conflict, "Jîn" can be taken as a universal story…

According to the director's own declarations in the Q&A session following the screening of the movie at the 63rd edition of the Berlin Film Festival the title giving name has two different meanings: in Kurdish "Jîn" means "Life", while in Turkish, although without the circumflex, it means "Woman".

Therefore an explanation of the film could be given on various levels. Of course, Jîn, although not yet of age, is first of all seen as a woman, and, more than that, as a Kurdish woman, who - traveling alone – is considered an easy prey by the males that surround her. Several attempts of rape occur, and it is significant that Jîn always defends herself like a fierce animal in order to keep her innocence intact.

Innocence is lost nevertheless. This, however, is shown not by the girl herself, but by the landscape in which she has to survive. Being on the run and having no friends to save or protect her, Jîn is often seen as a lonely inhabitant of the forest or the mountain. But these apparently inhospitable places, in which for any human soul it would seem difficult to stay alive, develop into a kind of enchanted realm in which a secret communication takes place between the protagonist and its local dwellers: birds, sheep, turtles… and even a bear. It is in this kingdom of animals that Jîn finds the protection that the human world cannot offer her.

The destruction of war, however, does not stop at the frontiers of paradise. When the detonations of artillery and bombs strike the remoteness of the land, we witness the bewilderment of the animals – as if they could not believe their eyes. Paradise all of a sudden is smeared by the sin of human insensitivity. Is all hope gone?

Fortunately Jîn, this time with the circumflex, is the owner of a speaking name and therefore opposed to the forces of death and destruction. She shows this by not killing the Turkish soldier, when she is alone with him in the forest. Her taking care of and eventually healing him, which took her a great deal of pain and effort, was not understandable to some parts of the audience: Why did she not take the chance to take revenge? After all, her father was killed by the Turks, when she was only two, and all the trouble of her life started back then!

But such an action would just provoke a continuation of the spiral of violence and not lead to a good end. It is thanks to film makers like Reha Erdem and the fictitious character invented by him that we are shown a pathway into a better world. Jîn, that innocent girl, at the end of the movie – though heavily wounded – is not dead. It is only up to the people in the world to revive her – so that she finally will get what she always wanted and what she fully deserves: a "Life".

Some people seem not to have liked this film. After seeing it myself I read a strange half-sentence by a renowned film critic, writing for an even more renowned international newspaper (I will not give away the name of the person in question, for his own benefit!), declaring that "Just the Wind" was accompanied by an unbearable sluggishness and confusion.

Such apparent misjudgment made me speechless at first, but then I simply recalled my own viewing experience. Although very far away from the screen, sitting just below the roof of the sumptuous Berlinale-Palast, there was never a second in which I was not absorbed by the action of the movie, feeling actually very close to the characters and by no means indifferent or confused. After the screening was over I remember walking through the streets without a purpose, just lost in thoughts and overpowered by a feeling of extreme sorrow for the fate of the protagonists and sheer helplessness against the ugly faces of racism.

"Csak a szél" is a very quiet drama that slowly turns into a shout. In a little Hungarian village the last day in the life of a small Romani family is shown, a family that only consists of the mother, her two children and the grandfather, because the head of the family has already emigrated to Canada, a place to which the others will follow as soon as they have raised the money. They all try to live a fairly normal and discrete life, at least the mother who is working as a cleaner in two different job places, and the girl who is conscientious about the necessity of attending school, whereas her younger brother is playing truant and prefers to play video games in the house of a neighborhood family or simply to roam about in the forest.

The film was inspired by an authentic case of racist attacks in Hungary which took place a few years ago and in which eight people lost their lives in less than a year. But it tells a fictitious story in which the artist decides to concentrate on the chronological events, however unimportant they may seem, of an entire day, from dawn to dusk. Soon we learn that a neighbor family has been killed, without apparent motive, just for racist reasons. The authors of the crime have not been found, and the police is not much of a help either. On the contrary, in the one scene where police agents are present, we witness that at least one of them is a racist himself. It is therefore not surprising that the whole place is dominated by a pogrom-like atmosphere manifesting itself by ugly little incidents, such as when a bus driver obliges a Romani member to run a few extra metres because he did not stop the bus at the exact spot where she was waiting.

However, there is but a quiet rebellion against these visible signs of discrimination. It may be a climate of lingering fear that impedes action. For example, when a girl is raped on the school toilet, Anna, the Romani girl, will do nothing but silently steal away without denouncing anybody. Has she been raped too? When a little later her father asks her in a video internet conversation whether she is pregnant, she leaves the question unanswered and can only speak about the fear that has invaded her.

In another key scene a suspicious looking black car is slowly following Rio, the boy. Rio halts and tries to hide behind some bushes unable to do anything else. His violent reaction comes out a little later when he is in the deep forest, running alone, cutting himself an aisle through the undergrowth. It seems to be something like a shout of despair, an outcry against the overwhelming menace, which sadly can only be heard by the film audience.

As in Bence Fliegauf's previous film "Womb" nature symbolism plays an important role. But instead of the boundless sea we find here the forest as an area of limitation for the human spirit of which to break free seems to be an almost impossible task. And nobody on this planet should claim that he does not consider himself concerned. Speaking of Germany, there is a recent series of neo-Nazi attacks against Turkish citizens whose swift clearing up was apparently impeded because of sheer negligence of the authorities so that Chancellor Angela Merkel had to publicly apologize.

But then, of course, there is also the wind. When the family members are huddling against each other in bed, at the end of the day and some noise is heard outside, the mother tries to comfort them by saying that it is "just the wind". And me in my cinema seat have got the strange thought that if the film ended just now, everything would be just fine. But the world is not like that, not even in the twenty-first century, in which the wind of racism is still around, arbitrary and blind, destroying the good nature of life and all the ambitious dreams that go with it.

"Ben X" is a word pun in Belgian Dutch and could also be read as "ben niks", which means "I am nothing" in English. In fact, Ben, the teenage protagonist of Nic Baltazar's first feature film, has lost contact to the world that surrounds him and does not want to play any role in it. He lacks communication skills, and does not seem to be bothered by that. The sad result is that he is bullied by his classmates in the most atrocious ways, a treatment that he does not even try to resist.

On the other hand there is Scarlite, a beautiful girl, that seems to be in a way connected to Ben. When two of his classmates, Desmet and Bogaert, have taken his mobile phone away from him during another bully attack, they find a picture of Scarlite and a message telling him that she is going to meet him the next day at the train station. They are full of surprise: how could a guy that does not speak to anyone have such a lovely girlfriend? The answer is that Ben has created a parallel world of his own, playing online games. In cyber space he has met a girl who uses the name of "Scarlite", and who has become a collaborator in his adventures and even a kind of confidant or friend who intuitively guesses what is behind his plan to play the so-called "endgame": he is planning to commit suicide, and almost instantaneously she volunteers to be his "healer".

But the meeting in the real world turns out to take shape in the only way that seems to be possible for a guy that is suffering from the Asperger syndrome: Although Ben sees Scarlite at the train station, he is unable to communicate with her. It is as if suddenly a barrier has appeared which he cannot penetrate. The girl finally walks away, but Ben forces himself to follow her and steps into the train that she takes and even manages to sit down next to her. Then, noting that he is in some sort of pain, she simply asks him if he is fine. Ben again cannot respond in a way a non-autistic person would do, and he hurriedly escapes from the train and loses track of Scarlite.

Is this the end? In the next scene Ben is seen on a platform ready to jump. But when a train arrives and he is about to carry out his plan, he is miraculously saved by Scarlite who pulls him back. As it later becomes clear, this second appearance of Scarlite, in which she proves to be the "healer", preventing him from suicide, is no more than a construction of his imagination: Scarlite is present throughout most parts of the remaining footage, but she is never seen interacting with members of the real world, for instance Ben's parents, and in the final scene she virtually disappears, after seemingly having had a conversation with Ben the moment before.

It therefore seems as if Ben is sitting alone and talking to himself. Strange situation, but thinking about it well, this must be taken as the only possible solution for his life. As it is difficult to establish a well-working human relationship for most autistic people, the salvation could lie in the imaginative forces of the mind.

We might even call it love. Although the idea that autists are able to develop such a feeling must be new even to experts, the facts of the film are quite clear: Ben has become attached to Scarlite - or the idea of Scarlite - and after she saved him from suicide, he accepted her as a kind of personal healer. He has failed to approach her using the patterns of social behavior that a non-autistic person would use, but nonetheless nothing is lost. Using the forces of imagination, from that moment onwards Scarlite will be a part of his life. He will not stop loving her, and this imagined relationship might even prove to be more stable than a real one.

"4 luni, 3 saptamâni si 2 zile" is a film about betrayal and about a society in which a climate of fear prevails, and in which betrayal is regarded as a necessary weapon against it.

Right at the beginning a recurrent symbol for betrayal is introduced in a close shot: the cigarette. Throughout the movie it is never purchased legally, only on the black market, and is often used as means of bribe. Logically, all the movies' protagonists are heavy smokers…

But smoking, especially when done by women, is also criticized at one point. When Otilia, the ever-present female protagonist, attempts to smoke at her boyfriend's mother's birthday party, she is reprimanded by a guest of the family for lacking respect. As a matter of fact, the same man later reveals that he was also against his son "dodging conscription"…

He seems to be the only one who is condemning betrayal and, naturally, he is unable to impose his will. All other people are stricken with the disease, and occasionally show this in an absurd, sometimes comical way. For instance, Otilia and her friend Gabita, whom she helps to procure an abortion, both go to different bathrooms at different stages of the movie, but both do the same thing: they open the tap and let water run, without using it, only for fake. They do that, of course, because they are overwhelmed by the situation and can't cope with it. Gabita, because she knows that the malicious Mr Bebe, who has been engaged to carry out the abortion procedure, as a form of payment for his services is going to have sex with first Otilia and then herself. Otilia, later at the birthday party, because while having to confront all these people she is not allowed to reveal anything of the nightmare she has just gone through.

And although she will later speak in private at least about the abortion to her boyfriend Adi, she is committing another, even more serious betrayal at the same time: not mentioning the form of payment she agreed to with Mr Bebe. Confidence, after all, is shaken, and after Otilia's rather abrupt departure it is foreseeable that her relationship to Adi will never be the same as before.

There are betrayals all around, and it is significant that even the most repugnant character feels betrayed. Mr Bebe is upset by the facts that he is not met personally by Gabita at the first point of encounter, but by Otilia, whom he mistakes for Gabita's sister, and that he has to perform the abortion in a different hotel than he had wished. The spectator, not knowing anything yet about his preferred "form of payment", even feels a little bit sorry for him, especially when he learns that Bebe might have to go into jail, because, after having found out about another of Gabita's lies, it becomes obvious that the fetus he is asked to extract is older than three months.

Lies, betrayals, cheating – there is no end to it, and not everything can be said, for there is a length limit to this article. But one character, and because of the choice of title obviously the most important one of the movie, should at least be mentioned. 4 months, 3 weeks and 2 days, that is the age of the unborn fetus, which Otilia (and, a little later, the spectator) sees lying on the bathroom floor, helpless and dead, and not even covered. There is a human shape, there are eyes and a tiny head. It seems to sleep peacefully and will never wake up. Isn't that the utmost betrayal, to be deprived of life?

But then again, we see Otilia running around in the darkness of Bucharest, with the fetus crammed in a bag, trying to get rid of it and finally dropping it on the trash chute of a high rise building. Before that we see her gasping in panic as a stranger is following her. Dogs are howling menacingly, there seems to be no escape. It is a scene taken right out of hell, worse than our worst nightmares can imagine, but on the other hand also a fair reflection of Ceausescu's Rumania. A state of fear and loathing, based on betrayal and lacking the most basic values that could help to create a climate of trust and understanding. An icy and relentless society into which nobody wants to be born that easily.

As in her previous film "Lovely Rita", Jessica Hausner creates a universe in which warm communication and deep understanding between human beings seems to be impossible. Irene arrives at the hotel, set right in the middle of a deep dark forest. She replaces an employee that has mysteriously disappeared… Those could be the core elements of a classic horror movie, but then we find out that "Hotel" is something more than just that.

The camera follows Irene closely on her lonely walks along the corridors of the hotel basement, into the forest or while she quietly breaststrokes in the deserted hotel swimming pool. But only once an unusual, "creepy" event takes place which could be typical for a horror movie: After one of her swims Irene finds her glasses on the floor, partly broken, and her chain, which she uses as a lucky charm and which a little earlier she had refused to lend to fellow employee Petra, has disappeared.

But there aren't any dramatic consequences. The chain reappears without much explication – it is said to have been found in the forest. This place, however, takes on a central significance in the film. People say that it is inhabited by a mysterious witch, although there is no actual evidence for that being more than just a legend. At least the witch can be seen as a puppet in a glass case somewhere in the hotel.

So the real horror is not a monster coming from the outside. It therefore must be innate in humans – just as Simon would put it in William Golding's famous novel "Lord of the Flies". But here the particular bad nature of mankind does not manifest itself in violent actions that can be seen on the surface. In "Hotel" humans behave in an even meaner way: their relationships are marked by the almost complete absence of warmth and mutual comprehension.

Nobody in the hotel is interested in establishing a friendly connection with Irene that goes beyond mere labor bonds. Being a newcomer in the hotel she nevertheless does not attract the curiosity of her companions. None of them wants to know anything about her circumstances of life. Irene, on the other hand, shows a longing for friendship, but is incapable of finding any fulfillment. On one occasion, she cannot find sleep because of some noise from the outside, and she eventually gets access to a room in which three people, Petra among them, are listening to music, drinking and smoking, pretending to have fun. But no real communication is going on, these people seem to be nothing more than ghosts. Finally Irene sits down in an armchair and falls asleep. When she wakes up, she finds those people gone, leaving behind nothing but the garbage they produced.

Another time, Irene is dancing alone in a disco, beside her a guy is doing the same, apparently longing for physical contact but unable to establish it. When later he has finally succeeded to do so, it becomes obvious that a physical connection is easier to have than an emotional or spiritual one. Some kisses are exchanged, significantly while exploring a deep dark cave, but not many words are spoken. So the relationship eventually is a failure and Irene's longings left unsatisfied.

Being deprived of a true love relationship and failing in her attempts to establish some kind of relationship to a colleague of the same sex, Irene decides to take a weekend off and return to the safe haven of humanity that might be represented by her parents. But also this attempt disappointingly breaks down. From a phone call to her parents, of which we can hear only Irene's part, it becomes evident that they are not exactly desperate to see her.

Bearing all this is mind, the final events of the movie become easily explainable. During an evening control walk in the hotel basement, Irene steps out into the fresh air to smoke a cigarette as she has done on previous occasions. And as also happened before, when she wants to get back inside, the entry door has mysteriously closed. But this time it is also locked… What is there to do? Instead of screaming for help or trying to find another entrance, Irene chooses a different solution. Without reluctance or hesitation she walks into the dark forest, a place that throughout the movie has been portrayed as haunted and dreadful. But apparently this is a better way out than having to return to that cold and inhospitable place that is represented by the hotel. A place in which human ghosts walk alongside each other without even the remotest touch of what all humans deep in their heart long for: true love and understanding.

"Zemestan" ("It is Winter"), one of the two Iranian movies in this year's competition section of the Berlin Film Festival, certainly did not satisfy everybody of those who were around to see it and did not win any of the major prizes either. That was, in my opinion, only partly due to the film's pessimistic undertones. To a much higher extent this negative reception should be explained by the fact that mainstream viewers and critics are still not familiarized enough with the essence of Iranian film-making and therefore unable to fully grasp the value of certain techniques which are typical for this kind of cinema.

For example, the correspondent of Spain's principal newspaper EL PAIS, after having complained about the apparent lack of "swiftness" of the movie, even went a step further and denounced "this endogamous style of a certain type of Iranian cinema which pretends that ellipses or silences are worth more than a thousand words." But is this really all that bad? Or is it not, on the contrary, an artistic achievement of the highest value? An achievement which can best be understood in that memorable "two-second-scene of happiness". But for those who haven't seen the film or don't remember it well enough, I might just recap the storyline a little bit.

It's all about the current situation of the Iranian underclass, where people find it difficult to find work and position themselves in life. Same problem as elsewhere, we might say. But here conditions seem to be particularly crude: It is winter, and the world presents itself just as that, a cold and inhospitable place. A father of a small family has lost his job and emigrates to another country, leaving his wife and little daughter behind. He does not come back, does not write any letters, nor does he send any money – his mission seems to have turned out to be a complete failure. A migrant worker arrives from the North, looking for some work as a car mechanic, but here in the South conditions are equally bad. And still, he somehow manages to find a small job which is poorly paid. He is without a woman, a situation which in Iranian society apparently is particularly despised and placed little value on. He meets the emigrant's wife, finds out that this woman lives alone with her daughter and concludes that she must be a widow. He tries to court her, but she is not an easy prey.

Then, suddenly, the magic moment arrives. You can see that they are talking together in a friendly way, from afar, without being able to hear what they are saying. The scene barely lasts two or three seconds, and then, in the next scene we are already at the registry office, but we see nothing more than the corridor. For another two seconds.

Of course, it is not necessary to be told any more than this. All the rest wondrously develops in your mind. Every spectator can invent his own version of how the two fall in love. And we remember: the same happens or happened in plenty of other Iranian movies which have been acclaimed in the past. Just take Kiarostami's unforgettable "Through the Olive Trees" where cinematographic proceedings present themselves in an even more radical way, for not only don't we witness the moment of love between the two protagonists, we don't know either if a love scene has taken place at all. Therefore we become the most autonomous spectator possible, creating our own film ending, just as we think befitting.

In "Zemestan", as we have seen, the time of happiness is cut away almost entirely. What remains are ninety minutes of sadness and sorrow. A sadness that inexorably gains the upper hand over the happiness. The mechanic also loses his jobs and considers emigrating. That's when suddenly the ex-husband returns, walking on crutches, having lost a leg. He does not enter his old house, does not want to reveal his misfortune. He dies before having uttered a single word. The new husband, on the other hand, finally recoils from taking the train that could have taken him to a new destiny. He stays behind, lost in the white immensity of snow, pitiless reflection of a cold and uncaring universe. It's winter, definitely.

At the last Berlin Film Festival I also watched "Stay", which was included in the "Panorama" section. It is one of those movies highly loaded with tension and mystery, in which you impatiently wait for the end, when hopefully everything will get solved, same as any picture of Night Shyamalan, or "The Others", that intriguing ghost story signed by Alejandro Amenábar.

A psychologist has to attend a patient who reveals to him that in three days' time he is going to kill himself, precisely on the day of his 21st birthday. He is an arts student and young painter and apparently wants to imitate a certain Tristan Rêveur, an imaginary artist who, according to the student, shot himself a bullet through the head, in the middle of Brooklyn Bridge. But then things get more complicated and gradually there appear things that by logical standards simply cannot be, and slowly you start to wonder which is reality and which is purely dream.

Although this is quite a commercial picture and destined to a mass audience, it is also clear that it requires an active and creative spectator, and therefore people who are just looking for entertainment as a means of evasion should abstain from attending the cinema.

So everybody is free to establish his own interpretation. At the beginning the message of the film's title seems to be clear: the psychologist does not want his patient to kill himself, he wants him to "stay" in this world. "If this is a dream, the whole world is inside it!" is his argument. He wants to underline the world's attractiveness, knowing that many suicide candidates insist on having the right to escape from the world, simply because it does not seem real to them.

You are kept in suspense all time, especially because you want to know how it all ends, and if the mystery will be solved. And also because you fear that the long-awaited solution finally might turn out to be a silly one that will never convince you. But fortunately this is not the case, in the end everything becomes clear, and everything turns around in such a way that you wish to watch the movie another time, for you perfectly know that you will watch it then with completely different eyes. Same happened with "The Others", although, if you think well about it, "The Others" was much more trivial than "Stay".

In the end you find out that the title's meaning has undergone a slight change, it has become more universal. Now there is not only one unfortunate man that we want to keep with us, but all people on earth, who are all destined to die. And although we know that we cannot do anything to change the unshakable laws of nature, we will never be able to accept the relentless truth.

The final one of the sixteen pictures that I saw in this year's Berlin Film Festival strangely enough was the one I liked most. Which does not necessarily mean that it was also the best or the most widely acclaimed. But it was the one that took the most direct way right into my heart.

In the end it has gained only one of the major awards: best soundtrack. And deservedly it was, an amazing combination of sound and picture, and when in the end the immortal Amalia Rodríguez adds to it, singing her famous "O gente de minha terra", that really put the dots on the i's.

Why is there a Portuguese song in a Chinese film? Well, in fact, it is not purely Chinese, it is from Hongkong with the action taking place in Macao, in the year of the return, 1999. Therefore, the Portuguese are in it, and there is also a corruption plot that deals with them, and in which the male protagonist, police inspector Shing, is involved.

But this is very much on the outside of what the film really wants to tell. Its title is "Isabella", but that does not give us a clear hint either about its message. In a way this is even pretty misleading. It seems to refer to the name of a disappeared dog, but then again this dog does not play a big part in the development of the plot. Then surprisingly, when you happen to have a look at the casting list, you find out that the main actress is called "Isabella Leung". Now that must be a complete novelty in the history of cinema, just imagine that "Citizen Kane" would be renamed into a simple "Orson". Strange stuff.

Really this is a well developed love story that goes straight to the heart. Inspector Shing, a bachelor who must be in his mid thirties, wants to forget his problems in the arms of a young girl of about 17. He is given a snub, but nevertheless the girl sticks to him, just to surprise him by announcing that he actually is her father! Yan's mother has died of lung cancer (the movie is also a plea for a sane life without smoking!), and the girl is now moneyless and has therefore got kicked out of her flat. Shing begins to remember his past: when he was 17, he had left his pregnant girlfriend. He regrets what he has done and wants to change his life. But first he has to go into prison, because of the corruption affair.

As is also revealed, Yan's mother has had an abortion, and Yan's father actually is somebody else: a man from the neighborhood, without strong affective attachment to the mother. But what counts is love, and the mother has never stopped loving Shing, and Yan has taken account of that.

The film is mainly about the coming closer together of Shing and Yan, first due to Yan's taking the initiative, then also because Shing finds relief in this beginning relationship, which could be called platonic love. Or something more than platonic, but this is not quite evident at the end. Yan promises to wait until Shing will have completed his two-year prison sentence, and that's how the movie finishes. It seems as if the love of the mother has been perpetuated in the daughter.

This at last is a lovely story in the midst of all this misery. It brings on a flash of hope which lets you leave the cinema with your head high. Many people have compared Pang Ho-Cheung stylistically to Wong Kar-Wai, but while his fellow director incessantly and yearningly speaks of lost or inaccessible love, Pang tells us a much simpler story projecting a world in which the most daring dreams are likely to be fulfilled.

Kenneth Branagh wanted to create a more faithful adaptation of Mary Shelley's novel, but it is far from being accurate. Too often he lets himself guide by pure sensationalism, he seems convinced that by filming more spectacular scenes than to be found either in the original novel or in the earlier film versions, he will attract a wide mass audience and thus push through his ideological message.

For instance Justine, the servant girl adopted by the Frankenstein family, is convicted without a trial and spectacularly hanged by a furious mob, pushing her downwards from a high building with her head tied to a rope. There is not even time to interview her, whereas in the novel she is forced to confess and sentenced to death in spite of passionate appeals by Victor and Elizabeth. However, the Branagh treatment does not seem to make much sense in terms of character development, as Justine has not been convincingly introduced into the film plot. She just has not had enough scenes before as to have become really known to the movie audience, and therefore her violent death won't cause too much emotional involvement.

A reasonable condensation of events and the omission of apparently superfluous details is a major problem in any adaptation of huge literary works. Branagh chose to cut down considerably the period of time that the Creature spends in the pigsty hiding from his host family near Ingolstadt. These people are now just poor peasants, and by no means French noblemen on the refuge, as in Shelley's version. And the attractive Arab lady, in love with young Felix, obviously has to disappear altogether from the plot.

The idea of Branagh was, of course, not to concentrate too much on the fate of the Creature but to highlight the folly of the scientist instead. And, indeed, to strike out at scientific progress as a whole. "Did you consider the consequences of your actions?" is one of the key questions the Creature asks a befuddled Frankenstein. Of course, he did not think about it all, he was just overwhelmed by his desire to overcome death, following the sad loss of his mother. The same way, innumerable scientists of the recent history, not only in the field of genetic engineering, might be carried away by the emotional impact of their inventions and discoveries without reflecting on possible ill effects.

Warning about the dangers of genetic modification might be one concern of the film. However, Kenneth Branagh has much more on his mind. This is proved by the inclusion of the "Arctic frame", not fully understood by some critics ("the movie is bracketed with an unnecessary prologue and epilogue", says even Roger Ebert). Here an explorer is heading north on his attempt to be the first man at the Pole. He is so determined that even an impending mutiny by his crew cannot put him off. It is only after having heard Victor's story and after having seen the hideous Creature with his own eyes that his mind slowly illuminates. He has seen to what folly the unleashed forces of scientific progress can lead to. The funeral pyre on the ice, in which the Creature burns his life away, finally leads to his decisive insight: the men must sail home instead of striving onwards. The same should be said to modern science and its followers.

This was just another marvelous film of the Berlin Festival. But unlike "Yes", by Sally Potter, which I had seen some days before, where after leaving the cinema I felt a strong desire of wishing to embrace the whole world and was just happy to be alive, this time quite the opposite thing happened: there was something that dragged me down, and the air suddenly felt cold and hard to breathe. It was as if, all of a sudden, there was nothing left, all hope, all future had been taken away to a dead place.

Nina's life seemed to be dismal and locked, but then, one lovely day, there appears that kind of luminosity that opens up the horizon and makes her believe in the fulfillment of her dreams. There was nobody at her side but suddenly she finds a companion, just out of nothing, someone who was able to share the most hidden feelings of her life. That person was Toni, a vagabond girl who does not seem to have any roots, just like herself.

But the film's title is "Ghosts", and ghosts appear and disappear as they wish, there is no way to retain them… Ghosts also represent the hidden fantasies of people, strange ideas that occupy your mind and are only perceived by yourself, hiding away from all other people. Françoise, a French woman, is a victim of such ghosts. She once lost her child daughter in Berlin, who apparently had been robbed from her in a supermarket, in just one moment of inattentiveness. Now time has passed, and Françoise is back in Berlin, still looking for the missing child.

Nina could be that child, after all she has got that same scar at her ankle and the heart-shaped birthmark between her shoulder blades which seems to prove her true identity.

And Nina adopts that idea, after all she is not only in desperate need of a companion, she also longs for a mother. But in the end she is empty-handed, Toni has disappeared with a man, and her supposed mum turns out to be a sick woman. "Marie is dead," concludes Françoise's husband, and the statement could not be more disillusioning. Nina is just a "niña", a girl without name, there is no hope for any divine fulfillment. There is no Marie in this world to accompany our lonely lives. Therefore, in the end, we see Nina all alone, about to walk along the road that has opened up before her, into a future that seems joyless and uncertain.

***SPOILERS*** ***SPOILERS*** Among the 16 movies that I watched during this year's Berlin Film Festival this was the one that impressed me most. Unfortunately though my voting in favor won't contribute to a distribution on a larger scale throughout the world. That is due mainly to the fact that Japanese Cinema doesn't seem to have many advocates: there are some big names such as Mizoguchi and Kurosawa or, more recently, Takeshi Kitano, but most of the rest is either completely silenced or banned from the big movie theaters and sent to smaller arts or repertory cinemas. Maybe the fact that a Japanese film (the cartoon "Spirited Away") shared the major prize of this year's festival will slightly change the situation - at least momentarily.

"Honogurai..." is a horror movie, but in contrast to many products of this genre we have never the sensation of departing from real life here. It is therefore impossible to relax and watch the action just from a spectator's point of view. We are firmly embedded in the story and willing to participate. Thus we feel sympathy with the female protagonist and even become her ally when she is accused of being mentally ill, at the beginning. It seems logical that she is perfectly sane and naturally is in the right when she claims the custody for her five-year-old daughter. She just seems a little fragile, a little lost in this hostile world. But we feel that she needs her child to gain self-confidence and to be able to cope with her life.

Then all these strange phenomena occur, the water that is dropping down from above coming from a flat that should be unoccupied, the red child's bag that appears and reappears under the strangest circumstances, the girl that is reported missing and that seems to walk around the dark and eerie apartment house. But everything gets explained and the lawyer becomes another ally of the female protagonist. It must be the ex-husband who is the villain because he wants to drive his ex-wife into madness in order to seize hold of the child.

But then all of a sudden there is a deluge of water all around, and fantastic events just can't be explained by pure logic. We now know that the woman, after all, was insane right from the beginning. All that we see on the screen must be a projection of the unfathomable abyss of her mind.

For a moment the movie seems to be in danger to slip into madness, too, and we fear that, after all, it is just another trash horror movie. But then a magical time shift takes place and a fifteen-year-old girl appears in front of the same dark building. "I remember that there was a very brief period in which I was living together with my mother," she says. She goes inside, straight to the former flat where nothing much seems to have changed during the past ten years and where even her mother is waiting for her. We share the girl's joy when she sees her mother again. Why has she never informed her that she went on living in that house? We realize that the life with her father hasn't been a particularly blissful one for the girl. And again we believe in the conspiracy theory: This mother must have been silenced by her ex-husband.

The climactic moment lasts just until the delusive images disappear and the girl finds herself all alone again. The horror movie has converted into drama: We are confronted with the tragedy of a girl that has been robbed of her childhood and has to cope with life without the consoling assistance of a mother.

The film starts in a joyless black and white and is thus reflecting the initially sad situation of the protagonist, who has to travel back to his home village after a long residence in town, because his father has died and he has to bury him.

Then our film journey arrives at its first heartrending scene, when the man finds his mourning mother, bowed headed, who then suddenly turns her old and wrinkled face around and shows him her grief, pronouncing to her son the irreversible truth that his father is gone forever, that they won't see him ever again, just as if he had not comprehended yet.

But for cinematic art it is possible to surmount the dull grey of present time and go backwards to a brilliant past, using bright and shimmering colors. Now that long ago period in which life was most intensely lived comes back as if by magic: the unforgotten time of youth and love which of course includes the desperate but relentless striving for the realization of love.

Luo, a young teacher from the town, who has been transferred to the little village, triggers off an ardent desire in Zhao Di, obviously the most beautiful girl around. At first, she does not know anything about him nor is she able to see him at close range. It must be the appeal of the unknown which fascinates her, but then she might also be attracted by the position the man holds and which gains him a high reputation in the village. The admiration quickly turns into unconditional affection and love. It is a feeling that becomes obsessive for she turns a deaf ear to all the admonitory advice she eventually gets and willingly accepts even physical pain.

Zhao Di's illness, which almost leads to her death, finally convinces Luo that her love is serious and unique. A remarkably intense relationship develops that only Death is able to dissolve, some forty years later.

The message of this film is rather simple: If you possess a key called "love", then you get access to nothing less than Paradise on Earth. Therefore it is not surprising that the most urgent worry of the mother after the funeral of her husband is whether her son has got a girlfriend or not. But she does not get a positive answer. It seems as if the son, in his striving for material fulfillment in the town, has missed out on something essential: the sensual fulfillment through love.

Still, there is a drop of bitterness that manages to crawl into the goblet of joy, a dark shadow which spreads out in this apparently flawless paradise. It is Death who painfully reminds us of something that we all know but always wish to deny as long as we possibly could: the finite nature of happiness in our world. Therefore there is not much more we can do but to get enraptured by these joyful images of someone else's existence which, somehow, might lead us backwards to the most blissful moments of our own life.