3.5-hour film about nostalgia and death, the two posts on which the Russian man seems forever to be beating his forehead. The main character returns to his hometown, where shades from the distant past begin to populate his solitary wanderings; his younger self follows him like a puppy, reminding him how far he's fallen. We can't go home again. Hard to fault the intelligence and ambition, but it's all a bit dull.
What admirable movie! An odyssey about the human soul, according to the ideals of the great Russian cinema, which turned away from the reductive and reactionary limitations of a state ideology to deliver us the imprecations of individuals before mortality. An epic that runs inside times and spaces and figurative freedoms to find the uniqueness of an artistic identity. A film is a gesture of liberty.