Endlessly depressing post-apocalyptic rumination from the usually happy-go-lucky Soviets. After the nuclear missiles have fallen, a small group of miserable survivors have sheltered in the basement of a museum. A Noble Prize winning doctor writes notes to his missing (most likely dead) son as his wife deteriorates and the shit world around him turns shittier. Yet, he holds onto hope... and is constantly kicked in the metaphorical groin because of it. Featuring a small group of orphans who survived the destruction of their orphanage (re-orphaned?), burnt out orange and cold blue film tint, martial law, gas masks, a nightmarish march through a children’s ward and the haunting yet brief moment the end comes. If you’re familiar with the arthouse depression the end of the world brings, you know what you’re getting into. Bleak moments livened up by some morbid beauty. “Dear Eric, Some say that children live by the joy of learning the world. However, I am convinced that even in their happiest moments children live by fear. When I was a child I lived by the fear of locomotives. People said that when I was a baby, I saw how a locomotive had run over a cow. I don’t remember that. But in my darkest nightmares a huge black locomotive kept pursuing me. My feet felt rooted to the ground. I woke up screaming” We get it... everything is awful.
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