ROSSOSH... RAGTIME...

Time plays the lead in Pulat Ahmatov’s almost meditative documentary. And time lies heavy in the hands of the inhabitants of Rossosh, a small Russian frontier town. One day is much like the other, a fate they endure with resignation and dark fear of the Almighty. Take the young woman who illegally sells baked goods at the railway station, day in, day out. On a good day her wares are sold within a few hours. As she kneads a new batch of dough and prays that God may grant her similar success the next day, too, time is drawn out interminably, every minute on the station platform excruciatingly boring. But suddenly time is flying past alarmingly, and every minute spent watching tomorrow’s pies brown in the oven is time irredeemably lost for living. Dreams of riches and true love briefly spin above her head, then evaporate and leave her feeling even emptier than she did before. Or take the leader of the amateur drama group – he too believes in God, but his faith is of the optimistic and inspiring variety. For one brief moment, the Biblical scene he puts on the stage dispels the paralyzing apathy that has Rossosh in its grip: time is brought to a standstill by the magic of seeing the lame girl get up and walk, the mind permitted a brief flight of rapture... ROSSOSH... REGTIME is a quiet, gentle film. The constantly moving camera captures details, sticks on the heels of the protagonists, spends a few minutes as a patient observer hovering at eye level, then shoots upward in order to scrutinize the people from above, and finally changes its vantage point in order to savour small details nobody else seems to spare a glance. World premiere.