Finding a story worth your time.
A woman talks about mother. Her words become a dance, and the story begins. An enigmatic note has been left on the table: “I’m going to the mountain.“ Who wrote it—mother then, or me now? The single ray of a flashlight roves through the darkness. The thundering roar of a falling tree lacerates the silence. Burning meadows, translucent horses, and beautiful mother in memory. A mysterious group, Wangel , does an uncanny dance, in gymnastic movements. While horses, horses, horses bound across snowy fields. These waves of images intersect with the woman ‘s unceasing monologue.
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Finding your next story…
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From the same director
From the same director
From the same director
From the same director
From the same director
From the same director
From the same director
From the same director