Like a written diary, it foregos the necessity of plot, character development and other attributes of a well-constructed story and concentrate simply but lovingly on the day-to-day or moment-to-moment events.
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Rewatching Hutton is like getting into grandma’s arcane keep of jams and compotes, after you’ve lost the unrelenting sweet tooth. You still love the perfume. You feel the nostalgia for an exuberant palate that kept uncapping jars, intuiting in each a fragrant Etna and a richness of taste heavy as concupiscence. Between those strict rows of somnolent sugars, the only rule was tireless impatience. From under every lid,
the more i think about this film the more i love it. how one portrait of time, country, life style so far from me i can feel so deeply mine? like some poem written in language i don't understand, but i'm able to understand every word of that poem. like blisses of forgotten life that appear from the dark only for a moment. flashback. memories of unseen. breeze of unachieved. and silence, again.
It works well with three Vivaldi's La Primavera: Allegro, Lagro, and Danza Pastorale in a loop. :) Youll get the sense of what energy Peter Hutton is trying to portray, the youthful energy of the Summer of 71. :)