Cicada

Every now and again, one reads newspaper stories or sees items on the television about children who witness terrible things. What becomes of them? How do these incidents affect them, growing up, and influence the people they turn out to be?

Cicada is the story of one such man. As a small boy, helping out in the bar his mother ran, he witnessed a brutal murder. The film tells it to us directly in the form of a face-to-face narrative. The man tells his story, shifting in and out of focus, a string of shots cut together with a slight awkwardness that mirrors his body language. His unkempt hair and intense eyes give him something of a wild appearance. We don't know what he might confess next, what he might do. We wonder how much he can be trusted, which is ironic, because after all, he's not the guy who killed somebody.

His tale is simple but astonishing, brilliantly captured. Whilst we look at his face our minds are elsewhere, focused on the pictures he speaks. Later the film will take us out into the night and stillness and leave us wondering about human potential. It's a poetic form of documentary making, all the more compelling because it's so abrupt.

The result is a stunning little film, the perfect antidote to the desensitisation we experience in a culture saturated with dehumanised crime narratives. Spare ten minutes of your life to watch it – it's an experience you won't forget.