This is certainly a different movie. It won't be for everyone's taste, but it still manifests unquestionable virtues.
A simple idea, explored to the limit and which, in essence, works, although we can question whether it has not been stretched too far. It would be a perfect short or medium length film. It was an excessive, repetitive and sometimes monotonous feature film.
However, there are two positive aspects to highlight in this work. On the one hand the documentary aspect. It is a time capsule, which has preserved an hour and a half of the daily reality of New York City in the seventies. Not a simple fleeting glance, or a fiction, with the city in the background, that would be banal. Here we have the real city, the empty streets at dawn, life on the subway, in the empty corners, where life passes peacefully, in the ones full of people, where the hustle reigns. It is a piece of reality, of the daily life of the city and its inhabitants, which is ripped from the past and bequeathed to posterity. Something that touches deeply, in the soul of the spectator (at least in this one, which I was).
On the other hand, the contrast between the human and sentimental richness of the letters read, monotonous and banal in form, but full of life and feeling, and the anonymous coldness of the streets, the cars, the nameless people that fill the screen, but are complete strangers, it shows a solitude of exile, where the urban hustle overcomes the monotony of the indirect discourse.
Finally, it is a film by a young filmmaker who, with little means and some imagination, managed to capture, on film, an important period of her life, expressing in repetitive and banal silences and words, the contradictions that filled her soul as an emigrant and her curiosity, typical of youth.
A simple idea, explored to the limit and which, in essence, works, although we can question whether it has not been stretched too far. It would be a perfect short or medium length film. It was an excessive, repetitive and sometimes monotonous feature film.
However, there are two positive aspects to highlight in this work. On the one hand the documentary aspect. It is a time capsule, which has preserved an hour and a half of the daily reality of New York City in the seventies. Not a simple fleeting glance, or a fiction, with the city in the background, that would be banal. Here we have the real city, the empty streets at dawn, life on the subway, in the empty corners, where life passes peacefully, in the ones full of people, where the hustle reigns. It is a piece of reality, of the daily life of the city and its inhabitants, which is ripped from the past and bequeathed to posterity. Something that touches deeply, in the soul of the spectator (at least in this one, which I was).
On the other hand, the contrast between the human and sentimental richness of the letters read, monotonous and banal in form, but full of life and feeling, and the anonymous coldness of the streets, the cars, the nameless people that fill the screen, but are complete strangers, it shows a solitude of exile, where the urban hustle overcomes the monotony of the indirect discourse.
Finally, it is a film by a young filmmaker who, with little means and some imagination, managed to capture, on film, an important period of her life, expressing in repetitive and banal silences and words, the contradictions that filled her soul as an emigrant and her curiosity, typical of youth.