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A railway controller and his sweetheart live in peace next to the railway tracks. Out of nowhere, an umbrella flies into their life. They try to catch it, and finally do manage to grasp it for a short moment, but it slips away and then disappears.
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Taking the visual worlds of famous painter Niko Pirosmani (1862–1918) as his starting point, Parajanov evokes, reflects on and shows his great appreciation for the artistic universe of the Georgian artist, his still lives, portraits and genre scenes. A surrealistic and phantasmagorical essay.
In an open field, a butterfly flies from flower to flower. The charming image is interrupted by cut-out photos of apartment blocks and flats that jump into view to the rhythm of a pile driver. The butterfly is increasingly hemmed in by the buildings, until there’s no more space left, and it is finally mounted and framed on a wall. The last of its kind died in 1975.
Sientje is a little girl whose mother won’t let her watch TV. She’s angry. Extremely angry: what does a little girl do when she’s so angry? Sientje takes out her aggression on everything, even her most precious stuffed animal.
Two obsessive-compulsives, a chef and an anorexic writer, are neighbors in an apartment building. The chef (301) tries to entice her neighbor to eat with fabulous meals. The writer (302) refuses to eat, and this refusal begins a turbulent relationship that forces both women to delve into their pasts of torment.
One of the most sublime color films ever made, Ballad of Orin follows the hardscrabble life of a wandering outcast goze (blind female musician) in early 20th-century Japan. Cinematographer Kazuo Miyagawa and director Masahiro Shinoda interviewed surviving goza of the time to capture “a sense of the ideal beauty that these blind women had inwardly visualized.
Amir, desperate to earn enough money to marry his fiancée Maryam, becomes involved in the illegal operations of a gang run by a man named Afshar. Complications arise when Afshar’s wife develops feelings for Amir—feelings he does not return. But when Afshar finds the two of them alone one day, suspicion and danger begin to close in.
“There are in life faces which, at first sight, appear unremarkable, but when seen through the camera or when projected on screen they become extraordinary. Behind every expression lies an entire life, a destiny,” Ferenc Grunwalsky once declared. While making a sociological documentary, the director-cinematographer came across a young mother who so caught his attention that he decided to devote an entire portrait film to her. In the absence of dialogue, the most minute expressions become the film’s ‘protagonists’, and instead of explanatory narration and captions the power of imagery prevails.
A week in the life of a cosmetics salesman who visits beauty salons to beat his way through the after-work hours. His journey across a wintery Switzerland of grey suburbs and villages takes him via hairdressers shops, hotel rooms and sleezy bars to construction sites and fairs, over snow-covered mountains and through spooky shopping zones back to his home parking lot. He meets people of every stripe, chats, argues and remains silent with them and never gets rid of his silent companion, the melancholy of isolation.
With his monumental ‘film fresco’ Ferenc Kósa erected a monument to the peasant revolt led by György Dózsa (16th century). Although under the Marxist interpretation of history of the period the revolt was frequently simplified down to an early example of ‘class struggle’, in the screenplay of Ferenc Kósa and Sándor Csoóri the depiction of historical events bears the universally valid formulation of questions about revolution and violence, while the figure of Dózsa – thanks also to the characterization of Ferenc Bessenyei – takes on a more lifelike and human aspect.
