NY - 2001 (3)
 

Again I enter a film by Sara Driver. A film full of suspense, of narrow corridors, depressive rooms in decrepit tenement blocs. Room sharing makes life cheaper in expensive cities. The dreams dreamt overlap the harsh reality.  Even a phone booth has a kind of magic to it if you look at it with eyes ready to discover the miracle of beauty in a puddle mirroring the sky. Is it a motorcyclist, a cop perhaps who is approaching the public phone? Is the women  to the left of him pushing a baby carriage? Who's the guy next to her? Just a stranger, occupying the sidewalk as well, as he quickly strives towards some store, night club, or cinema? It is an image of night we see, a cityscape engulfed into the neon colors of night which leave little room for darkness. But the darkness of night is as secretive, as miraculous and poetic as the colors of Times Square, or any other location you might prefer. The vibrant chaos of a big city, with all its colors, its lights blinking, its phones and communication and hurrying night birds, it is so alive, so full of sounds and surprises. And yet I can't help it. I discover in it - a vast loneliness, as well.
 

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