I would like to start with the color gamut of the film. Dirty, muted colors: yellow, green, black. The first scene, the scene with the inflating of the frog, like the first brush stroke on the canvas and this stroke is a great feeling of joy, anticipation of adventure, but contaminated with pity for the frog, which three boys inflated and blew up in front of a woman whose clothes and skin were stained with blood because of it. This is the third dirt. A third layer of dirt, if you like. Dirt sticks to the skin gradually. At the end of this scene, sympathy for the woman is visible on the face of the main boy, but he rather quickly stops looking at the woman and runs away. The boy seems to be throwing something bright from his face and again covered with dirt of a small, insignificant death, but growing throughout the film.
The people of the little protagonist's family look emaciated and drained. The mother is unhappy with life, she hates reality, she expects the eldest son to return from the war. Looking forward to the return of a better life. The father reads a book about vampires and asks his son to bring water. Two times, one dialogue template. Thirst for water, thirst for blood. The frames of this family reminded me of Grant Wood's American Gothic. But the picture is order, life; frames are chaos, death. A clean black car rushes into the incessant alarm of reality, like Langorier. Why is it so clean when it was driving along a dusty road among yellow, thorny fields of rye? And here we have before us the first victim of the growing death - a man, the father of a family. Longing for the dead seems artificial and therefore frightening. The protagonist sees some kind of game in this: the vampire killed his father. There are a lot of animal bones, machine bones in the frame. And death, again. It seems that something is lurking there, in the corner of the frame, but you cannot see, you cannot notice. Two identical women with a dead seagull in their hands are teasing - come on, you can look behind the frame, you can see! But they slip away just like the mystery.
Returning to the colors, they become highly saturated and evoke some feeling of horror of noon. The eldest son returns home, but the mother's life is not getting better. The eldest son glitters among the dirt and dust of the fields. He falls in love with a woman who lives next door. But there is anxiety and fear all around. We hear him describe the war he saw. Bright, bright light. Probably a nuclear bomb. The light in the frame is like the light of the bomb. Is this man dying too? We can only speculate. But we know for sure that Langorier came for a new death. The light of the sun dazzles, the yell of pain is deafening, and the last frame plunges us into the blackness of despair and incessant grief.
The people of the little protagonist's family look emaciated and drained. The mother is unhappy with life, she hates reality, she expects the eldest son to return from the war. Looking forward to the return of a better life. The father reads a book about vampires and asks his son to bring water. Two times, one dialogue template. Thirst for water, thirst for blood. The frames of this family reminded me of Grant Wood's American Gothic. But the picture is order, life; frames are chaos, death. A clean black car rushes into the incessant alarm of reality, like Langorier. Why is it so clean when it was driving along a dusty road among yellow, thorny fields of rye? And here we have before us the first victim of the growing death - a man, the father of a family. Longing for the dead seems artificial and therefore frightening. The protagonist sees some kind of game in this: the vampire killed his father. There are a lot of animal bones, machine bones in the frame. And death, again. It seems that something is lurking there, in the corner of the frame, but you cannot see, you cannot notice. Two identical women with a dead seagull in their hands are teasing - come on, you can look behind the frame, you can see! But they slip away just like the mystery.
Returning to the colors, they become highly saturated and evoke some feeling of horror of noon. The eldest son returns home, but the mother's life is not getting better. The eldest son glitters among the dirt and dust of the fields. He falls in love with a woman who lives next door. But there is anxiety and fear all around. We hear him describe the war he saw. Bright, bright light. Probably a nuclear bomb. The light in the frame is like the light of the bomb. Is this man dying too? We can only speculate. But we know for sure that Langorier came for a new death. The light of the sun dazzles, the yell of pain is deafening, and the last frame plunges us into the blackness of despair and incessant grief.