blakeFilm-muttering, I could tell, last mode of expression waiting for suicide. The only exception: a murmured and shouted song to find some relief or courage before he's gone to take the rifle, waiting for him in the wardrobe. We are singing too, when we're scared, it's well known.
A depressive film too, despite of its formal beauty, the camera always follows in the right distance Blake's last days: "it's a long way from death to birth", so to say death is the present life of this solitary autist. Nobody's able tu disturb his undeterminable state between restlessness and immobility, not the four "friends" who do their business and interrupt themselves only to ask some help or money from Blake, not the manager who phones him, not the salesman who apparently came to the wrong house, not even his mother who wants to remind him his duties.
At the end I'm not only scared for the hero but also for the actor who mimes this character with an awful perfection, bent under un unbearable burden, "down on your bended knee."

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