L'éternité et un jour

While not as thoroughly awe-inspiring as "Ulysses Gaze," "Eternity and a Day" is one of the most masterful films I've seen. It is full of beautiful, haunting images that have stayed with me long since seeing it. Like the other Angelopoulos films I've seen, it is a somewhat dense, contemplative film, but it shouldn't be seen as intimidating or unaccessible. The storyline, despite the frequent flashbacks, is easy to follow, the the emotional impact never ceases. An impressive, inspiring film.

The basic plot of ETERNITY AND A DAY is straightforward enough - an aging writer Alexandre (Bruno Ganz) meets a young illegal Albainian immigrant (Achileas Skevis) and takes his home. As he does so, the writer reflects on his own life; his past; his relationship with his mother and his wife; and what he has achieved in his life. Yet Theodoros Angeloploulos' film is at heart a meditation on the act of writing: when we set down words on the page, do they actually record our experiences, or can they only provide an approximation of what we are feeling at any particular moment? Alexandre is perpetually tormented by this thought - although successful in his chosen career, he believes that he has been a failure, simply because of the notion that words can only allude to experience, not record it. The child, in his innocence, believes that words can be found, or bought; but however much one pays for that word (in terms of buying a book, for instance, or when a writer receives royalties for what they have done), those words are still inadequate. They are both allusive - in the sense that their relationships to actions and things are contingent upon circumstances - and elusive (in the sense that such relationships are only approximate). With such uncertainties in his mind, Alexandre comes to understand that there is no "final" distinction between "life" and "death" (after all, they are only words); he has to experience both as a continuum, without the support of anyone. Visually speaking, the film is full of stylistic ironies: Angelopoloulos' camera is perpetually tracking forwards; we see cars in the traffic-choked streets driving off to somewhere, or traveling on the freeway; while the characters are seen crossing the frame from left to right. All suggest some kind of forward movement, a desire to go from one place to another. However such movements are not "progressive" at all, but rather suggest a desire not reflect on life's futility (as Alexandre discovers through his words). In a sense such movements are an evasion rather than an engagement with existence. The same also goes for the "narrative" of the film: Angelopoloulos shows that it is not particularly significant: what matters more is for viewers to reflect on the mise-en-scene within individual frames; to listen to the words, focus on the actors' expressions and body movements, and understand Alexandre's state of mind. A long and complex film, ETERNITY AND A DAY befits repeated viewings.

Not as heart-warming as "Kolya," nor as powerful as "L'Avventura," but still a movingly worthwhile experience. The leaps from one point in the hero's lifetime to another are poignant. Many of the directorial flourishes are quite memorable; the wedding sequence is not to be missed!

Our hero, Alexos, exists in the present urban world in which the weather is gloomy and almost everyone wears black; but his mind wanders to the past, where the sun infallibly shines over the shore and nearly all wear white. Yet when Alexos imagines himself in his past, he's still shrouded in black; he can't even dream that he could be happy, until a street urchin appears to rattle him from his shell.

This film does contain elements we've seen before, but arranges them in a fresh way. It reminded me how precious and fleeting each moment really is, and how wondrous it can be to share our moments with others.

This film was such a pleasurable experience to watch. I was expecting a considerably depressing venture but the end left me filled with a variety of conflicting emotions, including a hint of rapture and a dash of melancholy. There are times where Angelopoulos left me contemplating about the life I have led. To many critics, the pace of this film was too slow, on the other hand I felt that it flowed beautifully, taking its time to arouse the audience's emotions. The music by Eleni Karaindrou touched my soul for it was able to guide the actors to make a truly magnificent tale from the heart.

A film straight from my dreams, drifting in and out of logical existence into the land of the dead. The story, as much as there is a story, involves an aging poet (played by European film staple Bruno Ganz) who has a terminal disease. He is apparently destined to die tomorrow, and we spend his final day following him, from his waking to midnight. Early in the morning he picks up a young homeless boy, an Albanian refugee, who tries to wash his window at a stoplight. Together they go on silent adventures. At regular intervals the film flashes back to Ganz's interactions with his beautiful wife, who never appears in the present, nor do we find out where she is. Most of the film's power is visual and aural. It is truly a sensual experience, along the lines of a Tarkovsky film. Because of its sensual prominence and lack of a coherent plot, it will surely fade from the surface of my memory. However, it is guaranteed to haunt me for the rest of my life. 10/10.