I cried so, so much… I’m writing these lines with tears in my eyes. For a film where words are used so sparingly yet so powerfully, I don’t even know what words I can use…
I sobbed so hard while watching the film that my pajamas got soaked. Theodoros Angelopoulos, what kind of director were you that you managed to encapsulate all the pain of humanity, children, and the displaced in a single film?
Beyond its masterful portrayal of life, death, love, loss, wandering, and war, the film has a profound emotional resonance. It truly possesses a kind of magic, a mystical quality. Angelopoulos crafted a film that feels like music — something incredibly hard to achieve in any art form devoid of melody. After all, few things can evoke such limitless, divine enchantment, touching emotions like music does. Eternity and a Day creates that very impact, resonating with every fiber of its being like a timeless melody.
I felt it touching every string of my heart, making my soul ache deeply as I watched. For years, I kept postponing seeing this film for some reason — perhaps it was meant to touch my soul at this exact point in my life.
I think what moved me so much is how the film captures the defining moments that give meaning to life — its beginning, its end, and everything in between. In this world full of suffering, illness, injustice, sorrow, loneliness, crime, cruelty, and loss, there are certain moments when you forget humanity’s decay.
Whether starting, living, or ending life, you carry those moments in your heart as you walk into the unknown. You live for those moments — the rest is just noise. And finding such moments isn’t that hard; you can catch them when you turn your head or witness someone else’s experience of them. At least from there, you can reach out and touch another person’s life, holding onto its fragile thread.
Or you can watch Eternity and a Day, letting life and humanity flash before your eyes in a poignant summary. You renew your belief in life’s magic, the art of cinema, and humanity itself.
“Hey Selim! What a pity you can’t be with us tonight. Hey Selim! I’m scared Selim. The sea is so big. What awaits for us in the place where you’re going, Selim? Where does the place where we’ll all go look like? Mountains or cliffs, police men or soldiers, we never quailed. All I can see is the sea, now, the endless sea. At night I saw my mother in front of her door, with tears on her face. It was Christmas, the bells were ringing. The mountain was full of snow. If only you were here to talk to us about all those ports: Marseille or Naples, and about the vast world. Hey Selim talk to us about the vast world. Hey Selim talk, talk to us. Hey Selim, hey Selim…”