In the opening image of The Brink of Dreams, we can see six girls running through a field. As in the case of the scene of three children walking in the Icelandic countryside from which Chris Marker’s Sans Soleil (1983) takes its cue, this moment also evokes the sensation of witnessing a dream, a vision of hope.
Asleep on the grass, a man and a woman are awakened by the sound of screeching metallic noises. The man climbs a slight hill, driven by curiosity to see what lies beyond. On the other side, the world of technology: towering electric pylons and industrial plants dominate the view. The opening sequence of Terra Incognita(‘Unknown Land’) serves as a metaphor for the film itself, which explores the themes of energy supply and humanity’s survival on Earth through two opposing perspectives.
In Tehran a search is taking place inside a big house: men are rifling through drawers and closets, boxes of personal belongings are being taken away. Nothing we have not already seen in the context of the Iranian dictatorship. But there is one jarring detail: the owner of the searched house is sitting petrified on the couch, while his place would be elsewhere, in a director’s chair, for example, directing that short, chilling sequence shot capturing the search. That is Ali Asgari, impatiently waiting for the authorities to do their work in his apartment-atelier and leave him alone, at least for the time being.
Radu Jude and Christian Ferencz-Flatz’s latest work is deeply rooted in the socio-political context of post-revolution Romania, narrating the last thirty years of the country’s history through the commercials that accompanied its people towards democracy. It is an experimental found-footage documentary, divided into eight chapters displaying dozens of commercials played back-to-back: an overwhelming and ever-changing flow of ideals, dreams and hopes. Thus, we find ourselves reliving a fragment of the utopia promised by the end of socialism, yet an utopia that, however, is jarring and full of contradictions.