For many of us, periods of great sadness do not leave clear written memories. Time, pressure, shrapnel, words, faces and gestures extend irregularly from a masculine blur, and this is often the daily difference – what we ate, bought or wearing – which relations faster than the consecutive events. Sometimes, the mind builds or distorts the moments in ways you feel somehow even if they do not happen in this way completely, which is why “wind and talking with me” is correct to director Stefan Dipeduelaweh simultaneously at the same time. Memorandum of sadness. He calculates the character designated for the last death of his mother, who is gradually expanding to take Kith and Kin views, the film has an emotional intensity crowded for many family assembly: one painful minute, the next day.
The very original work and the fracture that flying between daily registration and explicit imagination, “Wind, Walk Me” may seem a challenge to the audience with its gentle and view of its view. But warm humor and accredited family dynamics – nothing about one performance of the performance of axial dogs – must be secured by a loyal follower in the festival circle, which will travel widely after the first show in the Tiger competition in Rotterdam. The non-fictional components of this Serbian-Soviet production are great enough to include great exposure to its stability, as well as space in more general programs.
The title stems from a conversation between the director and his mother Negrica, in the later stages of its battle with cancer, which reserve procedures – with intimate video clips that later bring a context affecting the mysterious sound. In this, she mentioned her conviction that a person can control the wind by the absolute power of the will, to a skeptical response from her son. In the wake of her death, it seems more sympathetic to the idea of human body communicating with nature. The wind is a frequent ears in the movie, and it seems that in a dialogue with his fragile mood, while he is not surely followed the relationship of touch to the ground and elements, which were filmed with shadow shades, at the end of the summer by DP Marko BRDAR. At one point, Djordjevic tracks hills of the tree with the comfort of his hand, self -conscious but hope for a kind of revelation.
For fear that matters will become very internal, Djordjevic has its amazing and customary relatives to return it to the ground. They are partially enjoying its determination to photograph their gatherings, but they also respect their role in up to the healing process, making a common end of what started as a project for his mother. A light narration is imposed on reality, as the director – the newly and the crude of the mourning – goes to the countryside to join his family on his eighty -grandmother’s birthday, and the first has not been reunited since he lost Negrica. From there, they go to the modest Lakeside cabin where she spent the last year of her life, cleaning the spider threads and toured memories, in an attempt to not let the whole place speak in the past.
It is not all comfortable family bonding, as rapprochement also brings thorny conflicts – spoken and undeclared – on the surface. Djordjevic was afflicted with his grandmother’s decision to wash an old Negrica dress, although she quickly realizes her challenge to give her fragility. Meanwhile, his brother Busco admits that he needs to maintain a small distance inside the movie: “Many things have happened at the same time,” he says. “I think there is more I need silence now.” These exchanges feel explicit, although they may be a theater. Sometimes, it seems that “the wind, talk to me” raises the conversations that we must do with our loved ones, but do not do; In other cases, even those are far from her reach.
One of the two imaginative fantasies is clearly related to the gradual dependence that Djordjevic is hit by the dog that hits his car on a country road. Lija is called, caution but the mix – in fact played by a pet out of the private director – is mixed and defensive when its wounds are treated for the first time, only to decline and relax slowly in the face of real tenderness. One life, at least, can be saved. It is a simple metaphor for the constructive capabilities of sadness, but it is not emotional, its imagination and age by a drug that practices its ability to take care again. Later we will see that weakness, unwritten, in the mother and son conversation alive with affection for the joint past and pain for a separate future. The camera is close to her gentle, garden face, intermittently disrupted by the curtain of the breeze: the wind, perhaps, get a word.