Learn to live again He must know everything. How they shop in stores, how they meet women, how they behave on the street, in the movies, and so on... chat with each other more. This is the only time that chatter will be helpful.
Return of the Resident, 1982, Dorman
A drama in which a single whole that once existed is shattered. Scattered, scattered in the wind. Not to assemble, not to fold. Only occasionally, fragments, scraps like a wave pushes to the shore. Do you remember yourself? Do you see your own faces? Yeah, sure. But there is no return to the past. Unfortunately not. And puzzles, not everything. One important, significant thing is missing. And so it is difficult to fully understand what exactly led to the tragedy. That happens a lot in life. A sudden storm, unexpectedly flying, tears sails. It's a total mess. The survivors will never be the same. And the ship sank.
Family history is before us. Or rather, what's left of her. Ashes of bitterness. A series of pain, with attempts to equip the world of scarcity after the shock.
Vincent's out of jail. Twelve years of a strict schedule is possible - you can not behind his back. He's thirty, but for now, he's like a kid. They adapt to a forgotten environment. The main thing is not to scare, not to scare people away. Appearance, speech, burrow, your presence. . .
Charlie's his sister. Junior. She's twenty-four. She is sweet, but she has not yet found a husband or a lover. Rental housing for acquaintance with the comfort of her life and a roof over her head. The flight of her soul is high - drawing, and reality is harsh - loneliness.
He's returning to freedom. She's taking it. Custody and help. In need, she shares the last. With him. With my brother.
What about Father? What about the Mother? Where are they? Do you? There was a time. Got it. And her words, the story of confession.
What is it? The cruelty of the world? Callousness? Detachment and withdrawal? Life for yourself? Intimacy of kinship in neglect? Psychotrauma? A memory-excluded experience, squeezed, repressed pain? A family story. Drama.
Adult children, not children anymore? Now just yourself, yourself, yourself. Maybe so.
"Kalina Red" (1973) echoes of the first restless steps at the will of Yegor Prokudin. The Soviet Union is there, France is here. Vasily Shukshin had it yesterday, Nathan Ambrosioni had it today, but the torments with tears of fuel crying are the same. Here's just an old mother, our domestic, still closer and closer to the bourgeois father who does not admit to grief.
6 out of 10