Walking side by side with him in my wool blend trench coat I have the strange feeling of being in the unforgettable long take Béla Tarr took of Irimiás and Petrina treading on the street of a desolate city, where winds were howling and leaves were rolling, flying madly in mid-air, and in which we had no choice but to follow their backs, track behind them and conform to their every twists and turns. I am eager to watch the movie again, yet feeling uncomfortable and disturbed to the point that I'm even afraid to review the scene when Estike tortures and kills her cat. I want to avoid being witness to the hopelessness and misery of life, to the power exerted by the powerless over something even more feeble. A coward, a faint-heart pessimist, I dread cruelty, I cannot look death in the eye.
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