16 years after the Revolution, a local television station in Bucharest invites several guests to share their moments of glory, as they stormed city hall chanting “down with Ceaucescu!” An alcoholic history teacher and a lonely retiree are forced to answer questions from dubious viewers.
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Porumboiu found here an extremely deft way to make an impossibly grand statement without getting the least bit heavy about it. Not heavy until the end. This thing is dry-ass funny wisdom until the culminating karate chop to the throats of its three stooges. And us. We are made to choke on our laughter. All laughter, since forever: to laugh from inside the nightmare of history because no nightmare is all nightmare.
As my Hockley (better) half pointed out, 'tis a pity they did not translate the title from Romanian verbatim. Nonetheless, enough wry wit and ridiculum here to choke a 'pisica vagabonda'.
All of the improvised silence and pregnant pauses used to tremendous effect by the writers, directors, and caustic cast.