Inscrutable motions of twilight spectres condensing on the evening's signature - the Crystal.

According to the opening credits, there is indeed accompanying music to the film; but due to some technical problems I watched it sans audio anyway. Bits of texts from an equally enigmatic short story I read a long time ago, however, kept ringing on that void. The writer, the plot, the characters, even the title; I can barely recall any of the vital details. And things I remember vaguely, a minimalist illustration of an elderly woman pictured in front of a Christmas tree and the sense of the imagined spaces evoked from the words, too, elude any definite reliving. As far as I recall, it was written in a stream-of-consciousness manner, on the musings of a person on a solitary Christmas night. Whether it was a woman or a man, I don’t remember; even back then I was confused about the matter; It did not matter yet seemed to contain some underlying significances. It remained unclear whether the visit from the woman, a stranger, was simply a figment of imagination. The stream of consciousness narrative on our character's reminiscences on the past Christmas nights of their life, simultaneously answered questions and mystified further. And I, of a young age at that time, did not understand its point yet was mesmerised by its sense of mystery, wonder and incomprehensibility. Our character, who passed many Christmas nights, was thinking about its passage, and now eight years later when I am thinking about it, I am thinking about the illustration, the imagined space, old calendars and decrepit articles. These remembrances stray far from that which was actually lived through, and they distort its original impressions. They hold no plot, context, length or speed- only sudden shines, blurs and darks.

Crystal's events might have had those prior materials but the presented form captures the remolded image of those, and does so very accurately. It may have been an usual stroll across the park, a return home from work, one which had catered to the mind nonetheless. It is soaked but the vial does not keep its successions together.

Crystal's main theme-shot appears to connect beautifully with the subject's actions: holding shards to the sky and throwing them; the twilight horizon divided into daylight and night by a railing; our remembrances losing all sense of comprehensibility and entering into that sublime and surreal blue zone. The (appearingly) amateurish tinkering with exposure does not break the spell at all, it mimics well the mechanisms of recalling on the contrary; the distortion of events, lengths and time into an ether of impressions.