I find it very hard to praise this little gem of a film appropriately. It's an intimate portrait of an elderly couple, cranky Arne and worried Ruth, moving out of a house they've clearly inhabited for decades. No explanations are given: we just see their last night at home, and then (as befits the title) their last morning.
The style is "fly on the wall," with occasional (minor) dizzy moments from the digital camera. The shots are chosen for poetic intimacy: we see the thrifty pair sealing their tidy boxes, eating the last leftovers in the house, kissing each other good night, and arguing over whether to serve the movers coffee or not. (Ruth says yes; Arne growls no; he, and we, know perfectly well she will anyway.) Ruth's fragility shows more openly, especially when the movers - who are very polite - decline a small meal, but thankfully accept her coffee. It's remarkable how quickly we come to care so much that they must, /must/ not make this woman cry, and are so happy when they accept her much-mooted drink. But at the end, Arne, standing in the light in the now-empty family room, looks bereft, and we can only hope having her with him will be enough.
My friend thought the occasional music was just a shade invasive; I didn't mind it but will report her comment. We agreed, though, that this was the best piece we saw at SheffDocFest '06. Mira Jargil has excellent taste, and her portrait of these people shows deep respect.
The style is "fly on the wall," with occasional (minor) dizzy moments from the digital camera. The shots are chosen for poetic intimacy: we see the thrifty pair sealing their tidy boxes, eating the last leftovers in the house, kissing each other good night, and arguing over whether to serve the movers coffee or not. (Ruth says yes; Arne growls no; he, and we, know perfectly well she will anyway.) Ruth's fragility shows more openly, especially when the movers - who are very polite - decline a small meal, but thankfully accept her coffee. It's remarkable how quickly we come to care so much that they must, /must/ not make this woman cry, and are so happy when they accept her much-mooted drink. But at the end, Arne, standing in the light in the now-empty family room, looks bereft, and we can only hope having her with him will be enough.
My friend thought the occasional music was just a shade invasive; I didn't mind it but will report her comment. We agreed, though, that this was the best piece we saw at SheffDocFest '06. Mira Jargil has excellent taste, and her portrait of these people shows deep respect.
