The answer lies in the lack of a sense of humor and form, replaced by the vagaries of a specific “emotional intelligence”. In the intervals between the novels, actors confessing to the camera shine with identical mental “baggage”, trained not to comprehend anything, but to publicly live the “states” set by them. It is not surprising that in the end, the scenes somehow played out are reduced to a devaluing exchange of bad mental energy… Everything, except for the last — a student’s, but distinct and touching — lyrical novel “Late Autumn” with the participation of artists who respect their profession.
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Olga Naumenko, Evgeny Steblov and Gennady Saifulin subtly live the roles of a mini-play about the last love in the Veterans’ Home. They are well aware that cinematography, like any art or craft, is primarily a precisely measured distance in every aspect of visible and invisible work. And, by the way, personal life. Intelligent performers set it themselves and present it in every stroke of the proposed circumstances, simultaneously illustrating David Fincher’s aphorism: “Some people think that there are a million ways to shoot a scene, but I don’t think so.; there are two at most, and the second one is wrong.” Alas and ah, the total “digital image”, or rather, its two—bit application, insists on the opposite.
