Allegro

I went out from the cinema crying. The movie, as all movies in my opinion, removes inside you what you let be removed... I am only 28, and yet, this movie reminds me of how many memories I want to hide, forget, just because my life is based on "keep on living, keep on acting as you decided, don't turn back, because this is imperfection". I don't think the movie is excellent, but it has a specific message (art is made of passion and passion is made of each one's history) and it knew how to express it, how to deal with this psychological side each one of us has. Also the music, mainly J.S. Bach, is beautiful. This is the kind of movie that I would call "of the moment", maybe you won't remember it in a few months, but it inspires you and lives with you unconsciously as a psycho therapy does.

I have to say that the strength of this movie is it's simplicity. It's beautiful in a very obvious way which really hits you right in the eye. The whole movie has some sort of delicate aura draping it and although the acting, as stated by other reviewers, is not a state of the art, the music and the very beautiful footage makes this a film well worth seeing.

The story is not complicated at all. It uses a lot of symbolism and the movie writer is obviously trying to trigger our imagination by jumping in time and place (in the same style as many filmmakers before him such as Spike Jonze and Michael Gondry) trying to make the moral statement of the film looking more complex than it really is.

This is a beautiful movie, it has some original touches such as the drawn episode and hopefully you will leave the cinema feeling the same way as I did, with a warm feeling inside and the beautiful music still playing in my ears.

There's a fine and potentially powerful sci-fi-as-metaphor idea at the heart of this film: the notion that the painful memories you wish to repress might be actually taken from you and placed somewhere ("The Zone," a la Tarkovsky's Stalker).

The trouble is, the film is not told from the point of view of the protagonist. His emotional journey would have been powerful if the audience had been *asked to share it.* Why can't I remember more than ten years back? What happened ten years ago? What connection, if any, does my memory lapse have with the mysterious region in my former home city called "The Zone"? Who is the woman in this picture: might she be a lover I have somehow forgotten? Unfortunately, while all of these things are puzzling to our hero, the answers have already been spelled out for us, because the story has been told in a linear fashion, and is actually narrated by an omniscient voice who explains everything point-by-point, essentially before it has happened. This greatly reduces the movie's emotional impact: we are now a passive observer rather than an active participant.

It is, in other words, the anti-Memento. I've long been championing the artistic cause of puzzle movies like that one, and Donnie Darko, Eternal Sunshine, and Upstream Color ... because real life is a puzzle that lacks an omniscient narrator. I wish Boe had trusted his audience much more and dared to tell this from the proper POV: that, and better casting of the female lead, would have made this an 8/10. As it is, it is worth seeing more as an argument in favor of more challenging narrative structures.

It was a big surprise that I gave this movie. When you think because a photograph is more important than a drawing, in the sense that the picture does capture a moment and freeze-it for all eternity, drawing, photography is made stronger, the film exploits this fact into something dramatically essential to put an omnipotent narrator in the argumentation, which is extremely interesting. Note that does not follow the structure of classical cinema, therefore understanding becomes a challenge, challenge for the viewer who expects to have more elements with which to rebuild those gaps that are present in the argument, leading to an environment discomfort that unfortunately tends to boredom. Ulrich Thomsen's performance manages to articulate a meaning of forgetting how wonderful, considering it's not just forgetfulness, but also, hate, despair and love. In history we find characters that make no sense, that seem to abound, or better yet, seems to be missing something, something like the memories of humans, so variable over time, but strongly tied to the music, which is extremely strong important to understand and feel this film.

I'm a big fan of existential folly in film, especially having completed many of my own. Zetterstrøm is the main character in this movie, a world-renowned pianist from Denmark. Since childhood, he is an assiduous "forgetter" of everything except his piano playing. This is to say that he stores up his disappointments, forgets them, and retreats behind a piano. After a love affair that ends due to his emotional constipation, he uses his facultative amnesiac skills once again, and this act is one step too far, so inimical to the fabric of reality, that a rent in reality is formed over three city blocks, and becomes referred to as the "Zone".

Zetterstrøm buries himself in his solitary existence of piano-playing, quite literally performing concerts in the dark, or behind screens so that the audience cannot see him. Shadowy figures draw Zetterstrøm back to the zone, unwilling to allow his non-confrontational existence to continue. Zetterstrøm must be made to confront his past.

It's a fascinating film, the narrator lets us know that it's Zetterstrøm's very brilliance which allows him to annihilate himself, that allows him to inoculate himself from reality.

I'm in absolute adoration of films that attempt to make visual metaphors of the human mind, such a film is this (the Zone fulfils this purpose), Tarsem films such as The Cell and The Fall are others. There is no subject more sacred, more revelatory as regards human potential. There's a scene where Zetterstrøm sits and has dinner in an ornately plastered ballroom. The windows and floor are all blacked out with plastic sheeting, and the room is covered in latched boxes loaded on pallets, representing Zetterstrøm's repressed past, there's also a cage with globes of light in, recognising the potentiality of his mind.

When there's narration we also see some very nice cartoons with Zetterstrøm as a child, that's another metaphor I'm very fond of from The Cell, that many of us are still children inside, just wounded, subdued, and with horrid barriers put up. You may have guessed that this movie moved me deeply.