A little traveller sits on the riverbank and reads the tale of the end of the world. The words of the Apocalypse are mindful of the myth of clever animals told by Nietzsche (“In some remote corner of the universe, poured out and glittering in innumerable solar systems, there once was a star on which clever animals invented knowledge”): the extinction of humankind was caused by a law which shattered everything through its peremptory mechanism, the will to dominate. What it leaves behind are the relics of structures now turned to rubble, ruins, further diminished by the advancement of a landscape whose cruel, predatory side is not shown, as much as the unfathomable mystery of the various forms in which nature reveals itself, and their behaviour.

In order to convey all of this the film attempts first of all to make us experience the enchantment of vision, by recurring to a  fluid, frayed narration, unconcerned with the different levels of reality (it is difficult to establish whether it is memories, hallucinations, or dreams), and by freeing us from the diktat forced on us by a  habit in watching which, through an excess of stimuli, deceives us into thinking that we can understand what is within an image in a matter of seconds: this explains the use of the long take (open spaces and extreme-long shots) and of scenic stillness. The duration of the take is carried on at length in order to enable the grasping of imperceptible movements, allowing the spectator to deal with vision as if they were sitting in front of a painting to explore, in which the eye loses itself.