A composer. A musicologist. A child. And few musical notes. A film as labyrinth. With Minotaurus and Dedalus. With traps and large shadows. A speech. About sacrifices and ambition, about good in skin of bad, about fragility of worlds, about the pressure of words, about night in the memories of evening. A story in which Max von Sydow is same and other. Niances and colors. And the "miettes" of old time. It is not a film. Just a trouble silence. Like a bread. In large slices. With perfect flavor under the touch of knife. A tall who exists, in many forms, in everyone.The letters are different. The music is more subtle or funny. But the scene is the same. Same genius in the fall scrub. And the sacrifice of a Pole. Nothing new. Nothing old. Only, another page.
