The entrance behind the magnificent facade of Europe It seemed to me that the meeting was not soon.
And so vast was the earth,
From sorrow to joy of river and mountain,
From sorrow to the joy of the forest and the field.
Drama in pain? Or drama pain? What's more here? The cinematic genre is nothing. The essence of the narrative just kills, tramples, devastates. Fusing with the ribbon, rubbing yourself against these unfortunate characters, suddenly you suddenly realize that behind all these radiant glamorous lights of Madrid, Paris, Rome, Marseilles, behind all these meccas for tourist bohemia in the promenade of contemplating the beauty of architecture, culture there is a place for ordinary human torment. Not momentary, not instantaneous, but long, tedious aching. Crying in the groaning of walls with reproaches, a thirst for finding a platform under your feet, fears of being. What does it matter what age you are? Is youth as vulnerable as any other category? And childhood? Is there a future in childhood? What future? In the repetition-projection of the path of mother, grandmother... Pain. Fear. Grief.
Prayer in the Name of God is an essay on the three family units of society living separately from each other, but connected by kinship ties. France. Marcel. Our days. Two daughters are married. The birth of a child is the prologue of history. Joy? Human happiness? Euphoria? A pomp of idleness in congratulations? Yeah, sure. Someone suddenly became a grandmother, someone an aunt for a baby. But the world is shaky. And no shocks of wars and cataclysms are necessary. Work - taking care of family - prosperity. The balance in income-expenditures was slightly disturbed, the boat barely rolled in the ocean of realities of being, trouble is not far off. Shall we? Shall we? Stand? Fear comes day by day, becoming more tangible. Arguments, scolding, despair... And then? Next? Treason? Flirt? Confusing the mind or hoping to get out of the impasse in this way? Oh, horror. . .
I wanted to look like an echo.
Racing through leaf falls, soundless copper.
From sadness to joy to go and go,
From sorrow to joy to flight.
Everybody rows around here. Some have a used recycled float of stability on the water, others have someone else’s excrement in cleaning and every day the struggle for existence in this small, fenced “polysadnik” – money is important, money is needed. Who doesn't want them? Barely broke the rules of the game in this world - "dismissed", "removed from the field". And the stories of two drivers, a taxi and a bus, are about that. What does it matter who exactly “warmed” you – police or offended competitors in the craft?
The director retains the familiar entourage of French-Italian cinema to which we are all used. The soft enveloping cape of facade Europe, brought to farce the delights of adultery, resentment and quarrels without the evidence of squabbles in a “noble society”. And over all this, and behind all this, a man who did not belong to himself for twenty years. Is he happy? How is he? Cold, suspended, calm. Monument? The finale clears all questions. Europe with a different face. From the corner.
But there is no barrier, and there is no distance.
Our meeting is a reward, you are here again.
From sorrow to joy is but a breath.
From sadness to joy - a hand in hand.
6 out of 10