User reviews

I liked everything about this movie. I liked spending time with these characters, and the performances were spot on. I liked the moody aesthetic of the film, the music (I haven't heard "Nightshift" in YEARS!) and the cinematography fit beautifully. I liked how the relationships between the personalities gradually unfolded and revealed themselves. But the operative word here is "like." Although I can't find anything to criticize, I can't find anything that deserves exceptional praise either. It's a thoughtful movie, it's a nice movie... it's a good, solid understated drama. It just wasn't anything more than that. I often wondered if there was some subtext I wasn't picking up on, which is highly possible. For whatever reason, although I enjoyed it, it didn't leave much of an impression.

Claire Denis' 35 Shots Of Rum is a sombre and humane look at a quartet of Parisians who experience loneliness, isolation and disconnection. Lionel (Alex Descas) is a train driver who lives with his daughter Josephine (Mati Diop). He has a seemingly casual relationship with taxi driver Gabrielle (Nicole Dogue) who seems invested in the relationship to a much greater degree than Lionel. And Noe (Gregoire Colin) who lives alone with his cat seems to have an interest in Josephine. The trouble is that all these characters are so wrapped up in their own loneliness, they fail to communicate with one another.

They are so wrapped up, however, that it takes their car to break down in the rain for them to open up to each other. Whether this is a good thing or not is a different question. Denis shoots the film in a desolate manner that has a complete (and fitting) lack of flair, which is a direct metaphor for the characters emotional emptiness. Claire Denis has named Japanese master Yasijuro Ozu as a main influence for the film, and it is quite obvious. The quiet, restrained dignity of Lionel, and the almost silent exchanges between the characters mirror Ozu's classics Late Spring and Tokyo Story. The film can be slow at time, but stick with it and it is richly rewarding. A complex film that is powerfully acted.

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In French director Claire Denis' 35 Shots of Rum, the world becomes, in author Sharon Salzberg's phrase, "transparent and illuminated, as though lit from within". It is a film of infinite tenderness in which the characters lives are delicately interwoven to build a tapestry of interconnectedness that signals life's inevitable passages. Reminiscent of Hou Hsiao-hsien's Café Lumiére with its intimate depiction of city life and the coming and going of trains, 35 Shots of Rum pays homage to Yasujiro Ozu in its story of the relationship between Lionel (Alex Descas), a train conductor of African descent whose striking features convey a sense of stoic dignity and his student daughter Josephine (Mati Diop) who is eager to assert her independence.

Like the relationship of Chishu Ryu and Setsuko Hara in Ozu's films, the focus is on the mundane occurrences of everyday life, the quiet intimacies in which meaning is revealed only by implication. While the characters are black, their lives are comfortably middle class and the only suggestion of racial issues is a classroom scene where Jo talks about how "the global South" is indebted to the industrial north. Set to a lovely score by the British band "Tindersticks" and gloriously choreographed by cinematographer Agnes Godard, the film opens with a ten minute montage of the crisscrossing of trains of the RER, the system that connects Paris to its suburbs.

Interspersed are close-up shots of Josephine, Lionel, and his co-worker René (Julieth Mars Toussaint) whose immanent retirement signals a depressing change in his life. As the scene shifts to a small Paris apartment, like a married couple, Lionel and Josephine settle into a domestic routine of cooking, cleaning, and showering, their relationship of father and daughter not made clear until we see a photograph of a younger Jo and her German mother. This initial opaqueness seems to pervade a film that relies on the viewer to fill in the blanks. It is clear from the outset, however, that Lionel is dependent on his daughter and fears her eventual departure.

Although he tells her reassuringly, "Don't feel I need to be looked after…Just feel free", he also lets her know her that "We have everything here. Why go looking elsewhere?" His happiness is threatened by upstairs neighbor Noé (Gregoire Colin), a scruffy-looking young man who lives with his cat and does not hide his feelings for Jo even while vowing to move to Gabon for a job. We are also introduced to Gabrielle (Nicole Dogué), a taxi driver who is attached to Lionel and may have been his lover. This unlikely quartet form an extended family and their deep seated feelings for each other are revealed in an illuminating scene in a café after their car breaks down in route to a concert.

Lionel's conflicted feelings about his daughter's growing up become apparent when the intimate dance between father and daughter to the song "Night Shift" by the Commodores is interrupted by Noé who cuts in and immediately ups the romantic ante. Lionel's jealousy is also reflected by Gabrielle shortly afterwards as she watches Lionel dancing with the café's attractive hostess. In an unexpected trip to Germany to visit a friend (or sister) of Jo's late mother's, the inner lives of the characters and the bonds that hold them together are further explored, although little happens on the surface.

To say that 35 Shots of Rum is a film of mystery belies the fact that it is also quite accessible though in a very rich and subtle way. Its achievement lies in its ability to create memorable characters and fully involve us in their lives without relying on extended conflict, outward displays of emotion, or even a coherent narrative, drawing its power from its creation of magic through silences, glances, and a loving warmth that lingers in the memory. It is one of Denis' best films.

The quiet Lionel (played by the cool Alex Descas) lives with his grown up daughter Joséphine (newcomer Mati Diop) in a comfortable, albeit somewhat sterile, grey, contemporary apartment in a Parisian suburb. Life has unfortunately taken away Lionel's wife, and left the two-person family in a state of tranquil solitude, where the father and daughter lean on each other in the big wide world. This outside world is there, as their entourage, but they keep it at bay. Lionel knows they can not continue living like that indefinitely, and one day he will have to let his daughter go, to live her own life, but silently he hopes that that day will be far off. When their upstairs neighbour Noé, who has always been there, announces that he will leave, Joséphine gets angry. It is at that moment that she too realises that the world around her can not be forever frozen. It is time to look ahead.

The small family is running on a borrowed time, but happy to be together while they still can. They are compared to Gabrielle, the family friend, who lives in hope and the afore mentioned neighbour Noé, who lives, disorientated, in painful past of his parents' death. Both of them cling to Lionel and Joséphine for their stability, for the calm love they share. As a viewer, you can not help but feel that Lionel "should" be living with Gabrielle and Joséphine with Noé, as that would be a more natural state than a grown-up girl living with her father. But of course, there are no rules to who who should be living with who. Or are there? When Lionel and Joséphine look to their future, what do they see? This in between state, at the end of the close-knit family life and the starting of your own, is the playing field of the film. 35 Rhums, is a very slow movie with a close attention to detail, reminiscent of Claire Denis' Vendredi Soir. We see what is going on, through the actions of the characters, leaving very little to be said. The consequence of such an approach is that you have to slow down the pace, to allow the audience time to take in those details. There lies the risk, and although I was taken in by characters, the "normal" gestures or running of the train through the urban landscape scenes are a little too customary to warrant such an exposure. Whether or not this will bother you is hard to judge, but you will need to be a bit indulgent.

Racially, the movie is quite a curiosity. Lionel is black and his wife was white so their daughter, evidently, is métis. So far all is normal. Joséphine's love interest and upstairs neighbour Noé is white. The family friend Gabrielle looks Caribbean. Still fine. Then we get to see his colleagues at the railways, the SNCF, and they are all black! Is there an SNCF line which hires only staff of African or Caribbean descent? Not very likely. And then there is Joséphine's university: the professor and all the students are black! Not even at the university of Martinique, where most people are black, is it an easy feat to write yourself in for a course where not a single white or other raced student has written himself in. What is the point of this bizarre image? Even if they were part of some community (e.g. Caribbean), then that would make more sense showing it in opposition to another French community (say mainstream or Chinese) rather then an artificial submersion. But they are not part of a subculture (no more than their own individuality) nor are the SNCF colleagues or the students. It is a strange touch which is unrealistic and seemingly without purpose.

Overall 35 Rhums is a carefully crafted film well worth its time, despite its weaknesses. Make sure you are not tired when you go it, to be able to take in the rhythm, as you are taken along the tracks in the Parisian behind-the-scenes. Lionel and Joséphine will linger with you long after the lights are back on.

I wish I could pin down Claire Denis' charisma. Watching in a row her 1994 'Je n'ai pas sommeil' and this one, there are some quasi-generic features that help defining what it is about Claire Denis.

All in all I sympathize with the opinion of the viewer who said this is a heartfelt dissection of familial ties. I thought the comment was succinct.

And yet the reviewer who said the new rice boiler was a new start and the funeral at the ending was sufficient occasion for the 35 rhums theory to be 'celebrated' by Lionel, was the one who made me start. I am not at all sure that the new rice boiler stands for new beginnings. And while the end turns around an occasion of mourning, I was under the impression that what is depicted yet never shown was Jo's wedding: her white dress, her mother's necklace, the furtive clad-as-groom appearance of Noe hesitating in front of the two doors, etc, mark for me, although this can be a total mistake, a familiar Denis device: nothing is as it seems, and that means that.

Let me explain a bit my remark. Denis is an economist by formation. What does economy in Denis' film account for, ultimately? And this makes me go back to my preliminary question, that is, What is it about Claire Denis? Oscillating between a somewhat anthropological b-movie, with its clinical, sometimes random like a jotting, drab shots of ordinary time (preparing food, consuming it -note the remarkable scene of three people in a row, in the kitchen, eating standing a silent, quick meal- the repetitive routes of suburban trains etc) and its elated reverse, sudden side with small scale yet condensed and beautiful though emotionally complex rituals (notably the dance in the bar sequence)that seemingly discharges packed-up emotion and pressure from the unexplained portions of raw, elliptical meaning. There may be an overt tone of post-colonial discourse, she may even have detested her studies, it may smell like a b-movie, or, bluntly, like another introvert-and-what-the-fuss-about french film, but I think it demands a very strong hold to tackle with understatement and finesse the issues, the faces, the spaces and the tissues of human economy, rubbing shoulders with the imperceptible and the unsaid.

Aside procedures in the film, and I mean by aside non-cinematic ones, highlight what is going on, more to the spirit of the auteur. Take in the opening credits the way the names of the actors appear: all in three rows, watermarked, and then highlighted, appearing like noon-ghosts; or Tindersticks' score: in the beginning the Messian-like onde mazenot throws a note of otherworldliness, only to be dismissed by a almost naive, post-colonial (sic) subdued, carousel music, that weave together at the end in a defying way, as in general the music slides in and out of the film, casually and perplexedly, not frightfully important yet - yet...

nothing is as it seems, weighs down its cliché. And that is that, the tautologies that are offered in the film, like the father's stubborn silence (what a perfect silence!), cannot, in the end be humanized into clichés. A neighbor who is a lover, or was one, a missing, an absent, a dead parent, or an all too present one, centrifugal urges to leave this way of life, because ghosts overpopulate the seemingly tepid urban scenery, a friend and a colleague who leaves his job and encounters death, the encounter of life-as-promise, ties who are untied or untidy, all this is loose and shiny, even in the autumnal Parisian light, and maybe, narratively, they leak out as everyday clichés, the way one takes the train. Unless they drink 35 rhums.

Claire Denis' 35 Shots of Rum is a poignant piece of cinema about the intimacy of a father and a daughter. They know they should part ways but leaving each other is emotionally challenging for both. On the other side, both have suiters awaiting on the margin, struggling with loneliness and unfulfilled desire.

In the background, we have an alternative view of Paris, a distorted, dirty, and ugly city. Most of the characters are colored, and they were simmering with revolutionary ideas and thwarted hopes.

The film lacks a coherent narrative. It's more like a distant view of family life at a random period. We don't know much about either Lionel, the father, or his daughter Josephine, but we could infer many things from their glances and the way they touch each other. What's connecting about them is their simplicity, charm, and ambiguous charisma, which is why they only find fulfillment in each other. Their lovers - Gabrielle and Noe - seem like outsiders, and they lack the vague aura of father and daughter.

I wouldn't say I liked the movie that much, although I appreciated the masterful camera work, the elegant pace, the implicit emotional tension, and the powerful performance of the actors. It's an excellent film, but something was lacking, which is probably fervor and warmth. Ozu tackled the same issue of father-daughter attachment, yet Ozu's picture has a glow, a depth of feeling and intimacy that transcends the subject.

This movie opens with about ten minutes of watching commuter trains running around the Paris area. We get views from the inside as well as out. You begin to wonder what is going on, is this a film directed by some train obsessed person? But, no, the opening scenes set a mood and briefly introduce us to two of the main characters: Lionel, a train engineer, and Joséphine, his daughter. (Is it just a coincidence that Lionel's name is the same as the model train company's?)

After the opening scenes we see Lional and Joséphine in their small but comfortable apartment in the Paris suburbs. Details of their ordinary domestic life are presented at some length. Lional and Joséphine are so at ease with each other that you assume they are husband and wife, but then you are surprised to learn they are father and daughter. Finally we are introduced to the two other people in the apartment complex whose lives intertwine with Lionel and Josèpine: Gabrielle, a taxi driver who has had more than a casual interest in Lionel for many years, and Noé, a young, peripatetic bohemian who has interest in Joséphine. Following the shifting relationships among these four people is the substance of the movie.

Dramatic tensions are developed with quiet subtly. Those seeking histrionics will not find them here. The pivotal scene has no dialog. While dancing in a café to the Commodores "Nightshift" and Ralph Tamer's "Siboney," the entire emotional tone between the characters turns. What a beautiful scene.

What attracted me to this film was the gradual way we learn about the people and come to care about them. In contrast, however, compressed into the final scenes are surprising revelations.

If you like quiet, character-driven films, then you will probably like this. Otherwise, probably not.

A long, pretentious and boring mess, ending in a mushy inexplicable scene set up only to get the title worked into the film. It goes nowhere... mostly because it hardly has a plot, it is just enigmatic observations.

Denis's strives for realism and humanism; but the only rare viewer can possibly identify with the film due to its purposely vague non-plot. Or to its characters who are just living their mundane lives. This film uses a manipulative narrative structure and its characters are mostly connected by lifeless staring or slight movements. The character development is nothing more than an hour and a half of watching them perform the most trivial and mundane of tasks. Nothing much happens. And the scenes in which nothing much happens drag on endlessly. This slice of life film was far less enjoyable than a slice of soggy pizza.

This movie has the subtlety and tenderness of a miniature painting. The charm is hidden in infinitesimal details.

The long opening sequence that watches without haste commuter trains running toward the large city calls in mind Ozu, and, yes, the movie is a tribute to the great Japanese master: a replica to Late Spring, offering at least two surprises.

Firstly, it's Ozu filtered through the lens of Hou Hsiao-Hsien: a replica to Late Spring calling in mind Café Lumière; a French director reenacting a Japanese classic with the sensibility of a modern Taiwanese.

Secondly, while transplanting the Japanese movie from 1949 in today's Paris, 35 Rhums explores other potentialities of the story. Which opens new horizons: after all, the choices made by the heroes in Late Spring raise questions with multiple answers.

Like in Late Spring there is a widowed father with a daughter in her twenties. The father is of African descent, a train engineer at RER (the transit system around Paris). The daughter is studying anthropology. Like in Late Spring, both have a quiet middle-class life in the outskirts of the big city. For the father the same dilemma: realizing that the daughter should leave him and make her own life. Like in Late Spring, there is a prospect groom for the daughter, also a prospect new wife for the father. The friend who got remarried in Late Spring (a warning against loneliness) became in 35 Rhums a coworker just retired and getting quickly alienated by solitude. Even the father's assistant from Late Spring, briefly viewed as a possible match for the girl, is appearing here in 35 Rhums: a colleague of the daughter, briefly trying to date her.

The two stories keep (loosely) the same line. The quiet and warm everyday between father and daughter is disrupted by a chain of totally unconnected events leading to the same conclusion: the daughter will build her own life, the father will face loneliness (getting space now for the 35 shots of rum). Even the trip made by father and daughter before her marriage can be found in both movies: a trip that offers the chance to talk about the long missing mother. The trip in Late Spring is to the ancient city of Kyoto, while in 35 Rhums it is to mother's birthplace: a German town that kept its medieval allure. But the similarities between the two movies end here.

Unlike the Japanese classic, 35 Rhums is not interested at all in the plot. Without making the connection to Late Spring you wouldn't get it too much. You would realize at some point that both father and daughter speak also German fluently, you should then realize that the mother was (maybe) born in Germany, you wouldn't get it what's with the 35 shots of whatever, and were you to be too stubborn, you wouldn't even get it who's getting eventually married with whom.

And that is because for the French director it is the web of human relationships that counts. Human relations, their warmth, their potentialities, never totally fulfilled, the never told dreams and hopes, the brief looks that speaks tones of volumes where words would say nothing, this is what Claire Denis is looking for in this movie. Discovering the unseen light that comes from within, celebrating it as infinite joy, and infinite ambiguity, of love; celebrating the mundane as scene for this ambiguous, pure, infinite, love. It's Ozu seen through the lens of Hou Hsiao-Hsien, a classic story subtly re-told with contemporary sensibility.

This fluidity of the plot offers room for ambiguity: ambiguity of what's happening, ambiguity of sentiments. Father and daughter have built a universe of their own where they feel perfectly fine, all other relations (the father with the woman who loves him, the daughter with the man whom she eventually will marry) are kept in some sort of a backup, never rejected, never properly treated, just delaying them for later, for that 'you never know'. This while all feel that time never stops, never comes back, never repeats lost occasions.

There is a superb scene that shows all this. Father and daughter, along with their prospects, are going to a concert. The car breaks, it's raining hardly, and they notice a small African restaurant. It's closed, they knock at the door, the owner reopens for them. A drink to get warmed, while the owner prepares some quick dishes, they start to dance, the father with his girlfriend, then with his daughter, the young man with the daughter, the father with the young waitress, each pair is exhaling a sense of intimacy noted with a vague discomfort by the others, while this intimacy is actually filling the whole space, is conquering everybody.

Well, you would ask me what's about with the 35 shots of rum? C'est une vieille histoire (it's an old story) says the father when asked... but you should see the movie for yourselves to understand.

If like me, you're the kind of person who's desk is always tidy with everything in the right place, who appreciates clarity and structure, and is in generally on the wrong-end of the societal norm of 'just go with the flow', then this film could prove to be quite a challenge.

The first few minutes encapsulate the movie in miniature. We spend the time zipping around a French metro system going nowhere in particular, via a camera attached to the front of various trains, as the timespan unfolds from daylight to darkness. This is intercut with shots of a good-looking chain-smoking bloke in his fifties, watching the subway trains from his motorbike by the side of the tracks. What is he waiting for? What does he look so worried about? Why does he eventually leave? For every answer meted out, another dozen questions take its' place.

The plot, such as it is, concerns the changing relationship between a beautiful father/daughter combo (which, at times, seemed to me almost incestuous in tone), and their extended family of neighbours. Most 'stuff' is left unsaid for the viewer to interpret. Instead we are treated to languid, lingering shots of things like, er, doorways and skin. This is most definitely art-house territory, with bits of French-ness thrown in.

I stayed for the Q&A after the Edinburgh Film Festival showing, in the hope that the director (Claire Denis) might shed some light on her work, and indeed she did – long, rambling answers that veered all over the place in an entirely inoffensive but generally incoherent way – just like her film really. Nice enough to look at, but not really my cup of thé au lait, even if there had been some in sulky Noe's fridge. 4/10

I like it when the movie title itself is capable of concisely threading together the themes of the movie and yet retains a unique symbolic connotation. "35 shots of rum" is a good example. The audience were left with a question mark as to what the "35 shots of rum theory" meant to the father early on in the movie, and when leaving the cinema were probably rewarded with a sonorous answer which neatly highlights and summarises the point of the movie.

In a working class Parisian family which is disintegrated by the loss of an important member, what bonds the remaining members together and keep them going? What prevents them from lying flat on the rail and let trains run all over them and wrap them up as some may choose to? "35 shots of rum" provides us with a sincere, heartfelt and highly humanised conjecture through unraveling an intimate web of relationships within the family and the neighbourhood, and reveals to the audience what meanings of life are to the characters. The story-telling is commendable and loyal to its central film throughout, making the film a structurally condensed and coherent piece of study of humanity.

I guess this was bad enough that critics loved it. It was like getting caught in the rain after your car breaks down and then needing shots. Oh yeah, that was one of the more exciting parts of the movie.

Contrary to another review here I found the film very enjoyable and interesting, although for the same reasons ;-) In my view, the film establishes the relationships among its central characters, in particular father (Lionel) and daughter (Josephine) through their actions, everyday behavior and their various looks (gazes, glances, observations). The way I read it (but the beauty of the film is in part that multiple readings are possible) it is mostly about the letting go of father and daughter, a musing on the "Father of the Bride" theme; in total contrast of course to the comedies of that title.

Indeed the film has hardly any plot but interior developments; hardly any action, but a lot of movement; hardly fun but great possibilities of enjoyment.

I was looking for another film by this filmmaker, promised to two readers. Unable to find it, I turned to this. I count myself lucky. It's potent stuff if you can place yourself inside.

One possible way is to note the Ozu influence. Most comments mention it. It's in the quiet family life between widowed father and his only daughter, in the dispassionate eye that gently embraces rhythms, in the lack of ego and hurt among the participants. He a train driver, attuned to a calm linear life that he controls, she a sociologist student, opening up to exploring and conceptualizing her ideas about things.

This is all a great entry, Denis films warmth, equanimity, assurance in simply the presence of two people together. There's no dissatisfaction in the routine, no loneliness in the solitude. Denis has adopted Zen indirectly via cinematic Ozu, this character is not apparent in another of her films I've seen, which only affirms that she's open and agile in her work, refusing to settle.

That's all fine in itself, I'll have this in my home over existential rumination every time, but Ozu is a bit more than tender tea in composed form. He begins with a rhythm that sets the spatiotemporal mechanism, and only after we have acquired presence does he introduce the dramatic event, usually a single one, usually marriage. The deeper thrust is that we'll go around that bend with more clarity than usual, registering transition in a cosmic way. A Japanese girl deciding on marriage was deciding on her future life after all; this needs to settle as deeply in us.

This is all about cosmic transition, albeit in even softer strokes. A larger family has been introduced in between, another woman who has feelings for the widower, a boy who has feelings for the girl. They all live in the same building. There's a lovely spatial fabric that brings them together, for instance the boy coming up the stairs pauses in the hall and intently stares at the girl's door, the intensity is that he's not just looking at a piece of wood but through that, intently as if to part the image, into the space of a possible life beyond.

So this isn't about just rhythm and composed space. It's about the neighbor woman smoking at her window hoping to see the man but not being sure this is it.

It all comes together in a marvelous scene of dancing in a small neighborhood bar, a crank has been thrown in their concert plans for the evening, their car that breaks down, so life spontaneously resumes on the spot to figure itself out. The deeper thrust is that they all have to go on. The father has to let his daughter go, the girl has to move on from the family nest, the boy has to come to terms that he might have to move on alone, the neighbor woman move on without making her feelings known. A train colleague receives his pension as the film starts, he also has to move on but can't envision another life ahead; sure enough he's discovered near the end dead on the tracks by the father.

The game with 35 shots is another entry; they do it, the father muses in a bar, to mark something that only happens once, life in a broader sense.

The ending poses a conundrum. You'll probably have a sense of what Denis is trying to accomplish by that point. She has removed the one thing that significantly held Ozu back, explaining from the outside. So she's looking to embody the transition that is more than an event. Indirectly this brings her in line with every other filmmaker currently worth knowing in the attempt to create a new visual logic for becoming conscious. Denis is uniquely equipped in having seen Tarkovsky at work. So the film becomes muddled, crispness must go at that point. The whole idea is that they are both in the end still unsure about it, this is anchored in the nervous image of the boy in the hall. Did she do it?

Loneliness is a strange feeling as one can be lonely even while being surrounded by huge armies of people. 35 shots of Rum appears to celebrate loneliness as it allows its protagonists to explore their inner world where loneliness is an expression of their choice which they use in order to reveal their strengths and weaknesses. This film is a sensible study which highlights the strengths and weaknesses of human character. This study is carried out through the depiction of human life's most ordinary moments namely a woman buying a rice cooker, a car getting stuck during a rainy season etc. 35 shots of rum is balanced in his approach as loneliness has also been depicted as a life threatening sentiment which claims numerous victims. One such victim dies after having been viciously attacked by fate. French director Claire Denis chose to depict a quiet yet fragile daughter/father relationship which is not able to stand the test of time. This is shown in the form of cracks which begin to slowly destroy an innocent daughter/father relationship when both of them choose to part in order to be with their loved ones.

The story takes place in Paris. There is a strong imagine revolved around the father-daughter relationship displayed all throughout the film. Lionel (father) and his daughter Josephine have a bond like no other. The dedication Josephine shows towards having a relationship with her father is admirable. This film goes though the ups and downs of their life. The new relationships they built, the troubles that come with starting over, and they things they give up to make peace with life. After declining 35 shots of rum, Lionel must make the man decisions to start over. However, he always keeps his daughter in mind.

This film is was directed by Claire Denis. Some of the main characters include Nicole Dogue as Gabrielle, Grégoire Colin as Noe, Alex Descas as Lionel and Mati Diop as Josephine. Nominated for Best film a t the 2008 Gijón International Film won a Special Jury Prize.

The 2 main character in the film, Josephine and Loniel display what it means to make scarifies for another person and to make tough decisions with them in mind. These themes in the film make it the heart warming one it is.

I gave this film an 8/10. At times it can be heard to follow. However, the lessons leaned from such a short film make it so special. At the end of the day, I would recommend this film to the older generation. Just because I personally feel like the relationship with parents can sometimes slip in those developmental years. It is important to remain humble and to sho sacrifices for the ones you love.

This move is more intense than most of challenging suspense films I ever saw.

It has no drama in it, except for the drama of life itself. Nothing really happens, except for the life itself. Nothing very clever is said, except for the wisdom of life itself.

Life, with its crown of creation, love, needed no words. No special deeds. Less is more. It needs to be there, to really see, listen, share, and mend everything in order to preserve this exquisite fabric of life.

The beauty of expression is so overwhelming that I had to stop three times to be able to breathe. I could not, I did not want to break the spell with my movements. There sre three scenes that support the whole movie.

A slow train with three stations.

Please, after you read my words, try to forget them and watch the movie.

Nothing happens in the film, except for the life itself.