Arquivo / 49ª mostra

The seventh elegy, intended by Sokúrov as a single line of continuous flow, the development of which is to show a new and original way of viewing the world. Seamless, sheer, here, once again, time has no start, no finish. A succession of images: the final throes of a body at death’s door - not a human body, but a pair of hands and a voice fading away, in the knowledge of ebbing strength. A woman awakens in her wheel chair, worried at the prospect of losing the house she lives in; an old man broods over his loneliness in a chalet far off in the country, as though he had just emerged from a novel by Gorky. Different characters come forth from different places, but their existence is equally tragic.