Carbon

There is an achronology here, certainly a deliberate disconnectness - we have aftermaths but not events, small consequences without context, kennings without knowledge. It discomfits. We watch, assembling events into an implied structure, a kind of narrative pareidola.

The mind races, trying to assemble the elements we are presented with - cake and a haircut, the crackle of what might be a fire. Mist, or focus effects, and through it excellent sound. Craig Webster, who directs, cowrites with Maia Anastasya Melton, who does the sound. The camera's black and white gaze on Iowan streets, the night and closed shop fronts and ever and again that sound.

Cocktail party effect, perhaps, sound focus - the ear catching something and the rest becoming muffled - it distances and allows association, our brains do it unconsciously but the film does it for us. What is important, ignored, unheard, not acknowledged?

The fire, if it is a fire, burns. The sparks, if they are not fireflies, rise. The crackle of something, and the waiting - no answers, not even the chance to formulate questions. Just sensation, worry, and palpable, praise-worthy.