Existential cinema in its most literal sense, Jean-Charles Fitoussi’s 2002 film The Days When I Don’t Exist examines the life of one unfortunate soul whose very existence depends upon which day of the week it happens to be.
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Vaguely reminiscent of tales about accursed pig / frog skins that plunge the wearer in human demiexistence (what else is the daily defacement incurred on us by duties?) and urges their spouse to call off the monstrosity-verging ambiguity by setting fire to the peel, “The Days” is an abstract, disinfested and all the more dismaying elegy on closeness, split and love's aporetic voice silenced by rancor's perverse logic
The jump cut as a metaphor of existence, a cut in the frame is a leap in time that, in turn, is a remission of life. Cinema's language - ellipses, light, panoramics - is also the language with which a life becomes ghostly, vanishing in the nonsensical. A brilliant execution of a narrativity, that is also a narrative and its dream, using the most sore and cinephile of the naturalisms.