“The world of the elderly is a world that is constantly shrinking.Little things become big. Few people are important to us, but they are very important.”
“…For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause…”
“Dream is the single gate giving
the dead a chance to visit the living”
In recent years, I have had dreams similar to those in the film. Of course, I have tweaked them here and there, but in every one of the dreams there is a core which I have not touched – the original source. I have not touched it not out of superstition, but rather because I would like to trust my subconscious in its sense of death. I would like to share my fears and hopes.
“Hope” is hardly the most suitable word for this material/mystery, but for me it is important that it exist within the person who has set off towards THAT threshold. What is the price of this expiatory hope? The film seeks the answer to this question.
Is such an undertaking worthwhile in our commercialized times? As long as we are mortal, it is worth it. At least it seems so to me… because death is a part of life.
As far as the implementation is concerned, the film is realistic, without the hocus-pocus of computer-generated effects. First, because that’s how I dreamed it – as in realistic cinema. And second, because I want to avoid the style of people flying through ads and blockbusters.
I anticipate reproaches of the sort: “Viewers won’t watch that.” I have always argued that there is no single category of viewer. There are viewers who are looking only for entertainment, for “popcorn cinema.” But there are also other viewers, who ask themselves questions and seek their answers. I am convinced that we must think about them as well. Quantity should not be the sole and most important criterion when deciding whether making a given film is worthwhile.
And let me close with a quotation from the Bulgarian poet and dramatist Valery Petrov:
And I feel how my life has passed through me swirling,
in one hasty gushing, in a colorful whirling
from the child’s very cradle, the grave is in sight –
from whence all this jealousy, from whence all this spite?
There must be something more! And there on the grass,
the pale sun comes to meet me and smilingly asks:
“What are you seeking, young child now grown old?”
“Something tiny,” I say. “A little key made of gold.”
The film’s finale offers you my own “little gold key.” Surely someone will use it to open the door, beyond which the answer to that question lies…