That this masterpiece is so unknown - undistributed throughout all the world, as far as I know, besides Greece - is nothing short of criminal. In terms of tone, it's most comparable to a slower, more elegiac Blade Runner - there's the same pervading sense of despair, of a deep, dark curtain coming down on the world. Exit stage right.
It follows an unnamed woman wandering through a postapocalyptic wasteland. The people she comes across generally try to kill her, if she doesn't try to kill them first. Communication seems to fallen by the wayside and all the dialogue we get is the woman's internal monologue, a haze of sentimental memories and a longing for a better time.
She works her way into a city, where food, shelter, and water are comparatively plentiful. It's every bit as much a wasteland as the outside world, but of a very different kind - abandoned technology makes its presence known constantly, including a memorable scene where the woman sits alone in a movie theatre, but for the unseen assailants slowly climbing and crawling over seats, working their way toward her.
She meets a guard of the morning patrol, a kind of taskforce that has taken it upon itself to kill everyone it becomes aware of. Their job is more a mercy in this kind of world, and although their technological, inhuman precision marks them as the bad guys, they're practically saviours when life itself becomes an enemy.
I won't go farther that on the off-chance that you're given a chance to see it - but either way, the plot is far from the point and doesn't unfold much differently than you'd expect it to. What does matter is a connection established between two nameless, faceless people floating in a void of memory and space, a timeless land where life and death blur together and the hope for a new horizon outweighs the need to exist. Alive or dead, it hardly matters.
