JULY RAIN

When the figures in Marlen Khutsiev’s films have developed their own stance towards life and society (which they do early on as a rule), then there are no great strokes of fate awaiting them, but small shifts instead, in communication, in atmosphere, in their perception of themselves and others, which lead them to reconsider. In the sequel to I AM TWENTY, Lena, 27, Muscovite, is going through such a phase. She wanders through the soundscapes of shortwave radios and Soviet bards, at a bonfire, outside beyond the city limits or past film posters, often aimless, though distancing herself concretely: from her beloved, her old friends and, with that, from the new collective promises of happiness of the early Thaw.