Every Day God Kisses Us On The Mouth

A conveyor line of steaming pig carcasses rolls past us. The sepia-tinted tableau is reminiscent of the opening, as a single file of prisoners traipse, gaunt and dirty, into the showers like animals to the slaughter.

Our protagonist, Dumitri (Dan Condurache), is a country butcher who, after being released from jail, has turned to vodka, gambling and murder. After raping a Roma's wife, whom he won in a game of poker, he asks her about his future.

"You are going to die," she says.

"We all die," he replies.

"But there is death and there is death..."

Like a modern fairy tale, the story of Dumitri unfolds. He returns home to find his wife pregnant by another man. An unhappy chain of events unfolds, with Dumitri losing himself in an alcoholic fug of despair and a bloody life of murder and debauchery from which he seems unable to escape.

Except for one memorable scene, the film is shot entirely in high contrast sepia. This lends the proceedings a grim Gothic feel, underlining the barren nature of the rural area in which it is set. The pacing is slow and detailed, giving Every Day God Kisses Us On The Mouth a melancholy, introspective quality that really grinds in the dirt.

It is redolent with imagery and running metaphors that are deeply relevant to Romanian politics and social structures, but to an outsider they make the film seem beautifully surreal. All of this is aided by Condurache, who is simmering and dangerous, effortlessly conveying the pain and confusion of the drunken Dumitri, maintaining a rapt tension throughout.

This is the first feature film by former Reuters cameraman, Sinisa Dragin. Hopefully, it won't be the last. His is a talent that should not go to waste.