CONSTANTIN AND ELENA

No ordinary love film: the subjects, Constantin and Elena, have been married for fifty-four years. They live very simply in a village in north-west Romania, tend their cows, chickens and garden. Constantin still works with his hands, Elena weaves carpets. Exciting times lie long behind them, their life revolves around peaceful little matters. They radiate infinite modesty and humility, and their familiarity and harmony is obvious in even the smallest of gestures. They joke companionably, occasionally tease each other, but always in the spirit of deep respect – a perfectly attuned team that meets old age and frailty with composure: “So many years passed by, and we grew old. We’ll be gone tomorrow or the day after, and the young ones will take our place. It’s always been that way.” Death is a recurrent topic of conversation, sometimes discussed in sombre tones, then again the subject of caustic jokes. But as long as they’re alive, they will continue to sing, individually or jointly, to their livestock or when they visit church. The joy that lights up their faces at the sight of their little granddaughter shows that they are very much living in the present. Director Andrei Daskalescu portrays this elderly pair of lovers over the course of a year. With its long, slow shots, the film takes its cue from Constatin and Elena’s unhurried rhythm. And offers, thanks to the wisdom they covey, a wholly unobtrusive lesson in the art of living.