Lux Mea

Are we in Eastern Europe? Russia?

It doesn't matter, except questions of geography keep scratching at your mind.

The camera follows Lucie, a young woman with sad eyes and strong legs, as she buys a spring bouquet at the florist and picks up a dress from the dry cleaner. She is accompanied by the sound of a melancholic piano, playing Music For Departed Lovers.

The flowers indicate a resurrection of sorts. A rebirth of hope? You have no idea.

There is a sequence in a posh car, where another young woman - or is it Lucie, looking slightly different? - is being driven by an unshaven older man who may not be the chauffeur, but her father.

This is confusing.

Lucie arrives home, where her mother is being dysfunctional at the sink. She shows Lucie a letter, which is a legal document, concerning divorce. Lucie looks even more unhappy and the flowers are thrown across the room.

Teresa Grace Murray's film is beautifully shot in some distant foreign town, yet remains difficult to reach. In her desire to tell the story with subtlety and insinuation, the plot goes down for the third time and no one notices.