Эмигрант

It was as if an old film had gotten stuck in the tape recorder and the world, creaking, had gone backward. Time stretched out, losing its shape, and sounds became soft, as if someone had covered a tired heart with a woolen blanket. The old man at the gate is waiting for something, maybe for heaven, maybe for the last bus that never comes. Each word is like a barefoot step on thin ice of memory: you hear the cracking, but you keep going. An emigrant who isn't looking for a country, but the border between dream and reality. Confused about the time and the world, he wakes up as if in someone else's body, where even his breathing sounds wrong. The music flows thick like milk, slowly, with a hint of old regrets. And when the last notes fade away, there's a strange feeling, as if someone has left but forgotten to turn off the light. Idea: K. Avenirov / M. Churakov. Director: V. Priduvalov. Operator: A. Parek.