Eternity and a Day 1999

The cinematic masterpiece “Eternity and a Day” (1998) by Angelopoulos presents itself as a harmonious blend of whimsy and introspection. The film’s narrative commences with a breathtaking shot of a majestic edifice, its grandeur underscored by the gentle hum of the main musical motif. As our attention shifts to a young boy’s voice-over, we are transported to an idyllic world where ancient cities lie hidden beneath the waves. This mystical realm is juxtaposed against the mundane reality of a family home, where a carefree Alexander tiptoes past his parents’ bedroom, accompanied by the soft whispers of a woman’s laughter.

With the boundaries of youth and innocence momentarily breached, Alexander ventures out into the open air, where he reunites with his two friends on a weathered wooden walkway that stretches towards the sea. As they frolic in the waves, the scene is bathed in a sense of freedom and joy, a fleeting respite from the complexities to come.

Fast-forward to an older Alexander (Bruno Ganz), now settled into an armchair, his eyes still carrying the wisps of nostalgia. His housekeeper, Urania (Helene Gerasimidou), gently rouses him from his reverie, warning that this is their last day together. With a philosophical air, Alexander declines her offer to accompany him to the hospital, instead expressing gratitude for her three years of devoted service. As Urania departs, she returns briefly to remind Alexander of his errant dog’s appetite, before vanishing once more into the background.

Alexander, now alone, pours himself a cup of coffee and surveys the world outside his window. The camera pans out to reveal the breathtaking vista of the harbor and adjacent buildings, where the sounds of the sea mingle with the distant hum of everyday life. As he places his record player on spin, the film’s theme wafts through the air, a poignant reminder of the beauty and melancholy that lies just beneath the surface. Alexander’s eyes wander back to the window, where the soft strains of music seem to echo from an adjacent apartment. “It happens every morning,” he muses aloud, his curiosity piqued by the mystery of who might be behind this daily serenade.

In this way, the film establishes a sense of continuity and connection between past and present, as Alexander’s introspective gaze reflects on the passing of time, the fleeting nature of human relationships, and the eternal allure of the unknown.

As Alexander strolls along the harbor with his loyal canine companion by his side, his mind begins to wander back in time to the moments that defined his life’s journey. The memories of Anna (Isabelle Renauld), his beloved late wife, come flooding back, and he can’t help but think about all the unfinished projects they had planned together. The melancholy mood lingers as Alexander gets behind the wheel of his car and navigates onto the main thoroughfare. At a bustling intersection, street urchins seize the opportunity to wash the windshields of halted vehicles in hopes of receiving a tip or two. Amidst the chaos, a young boy (Achileas Skevis) clad in an oversized yellow parka ventures forth from the crowd, his eyes fixed on Alexander’s windshield. As the traffic light turns green and the cars begin to move once more, the sound of police sirens fills the air, signaling the start of a high-speed chase as law enforcement pursues the group of mischievous boys down the avenue.

Alexander brings his vehicle to a stop, opens the passenger door, and loudly summons the boy in the bright yellow parka to join him. The authorities and other young delinquents rush past, leaving the boy safe from arrest as he climbs into Alexander’s car. Once they turn onto a side street, Alexander stops the vehicle and begins asking the boy several questions in Greek. However, it becomes apparent that the boy, an Albanian refugee, doesn’t comprehend the language. With a mixture of curiosity and caution, Alexander bids the boy farewell, and with a beaming smile of gratitude, he departs down the sidewalk without revealing his name at any point during the film.

As Alexander (character) sits down with his daughter, Katerina (Iris Chatziantoniou), he breaks the news that he must embark on a journey and requires her to care for their loyal canine companion. However, Katerina refuses, citing her husband Nikos’ (Vassilis Seimenis) aversion to any furry friends within their walls. In an effort to distract himself from his impending departure, Alexander steers the conversation towards his long-abandoned third project: a completion of Greece’s revered National poet Dionysios Solomos’ (1798-1857) unfinished masterpiece, “Free Besieged.” He confesses that he has yet to find the suitable words to bring it to fruition. Handing Katerina a bundle of letters penned by her mother Anna (Pemi Zouni), one in particular catches his attention - dated September 20th, 1966, the day Katerina was born.

As Katerina begins reading aloud from this letter, Alexander’s mind takes him back to that fateful day two decades prior. Anna’s words transport Alexander to a bygone era, where he finds himself standing at his current age, yet Anna appears as she did on that day, her youthful vitality and beauty still radiant. In the voice of Anna, we hear her lamenting her husband’s perpetual absence, consumed instead by the world within the confines of his books. This nostalgic reverie is soon interrupted by the arrival of a multitude of relatives - including Katerina’s maternal grandmother (Alexandra Ladikou), grandfather (Alekos Oudinotis), and uncle (Nikos Kouros) - all gathered to pay homage to the new life that had just entered the world. As they rush to the beachfront, where Alexander’s mother (Despina Bebedelli) stands watch over the slumbering Katerina in her baby carriage.

The reading comes to a close, and Alexander must reluctantly bid farewell to his memories of the past. As he turns to leave, Nikos appears, bearing grave news: their family home, steeped in history and nostalgia, has been sold, and demolition is set to begin that very afternoon. Katerina attempts to justify the sale, but Alexander’s ears remain closed to her rationalizations, his mind instead drifting back to a pivotal moment in her life - one that unfolded when she was just fifteen years old. With a heavy heart, Alexander departs with his loyal companion by his side.

As Alexander pauses to alleviate his discomfort at a local pharmacy, his gaze drifts across the street, where it settles on a haunting scene: a young boy clad in a bright yellow parka, his friend being forcibly taken away by two men. Without hesitation, he tracks their vehicle to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Thessaloniki, his curiosity piqued and his sense of unease growing. Upon arriving at the warehouse, Alexander discovers that it’s been transformed into a makeshift marketplace, with a busload of middle-aged individuals disembarking and entering the building alongside him. As he blends in with the crowd, he observes the boy and numerous other children being held captive, a realization that dawns on him like a sickening truth: these people are likely childless couples searching for a surrogate family.

The ensuing chaos provides Alexander with an opportunity to seize the Albanian boy and, after negotiating with his captors, makes a daring escape from the warehouse. As they hit the open road, the two strangers find themselves at a bus stop, where Alexander asks the boy if he has any familial ties in Albania. The boy’s response - that he has a grandmother - sparks a sense of responsibility within Alexander, who then secures transportation to take the boy close to the border.

As they walk towards the waiting bus, Alexander feels an overwhelming guilt at abandoning the boy, and attempts to prepare him for the journey ahead by likening it to his own impending adventure. The boy’s words - “korphoula mou” - from a song he was singing earlier pique Alexander’s interest, prompting him to ask for clarification. The boy boards the bus, but its sudden stop prompts him to leap off once more, leaving Alexander with little choice but to take matters into his own hands. He decides to drive the boy to the border himself, and on their journey, they stop at a traditional kafeneon where Alexander considers hiring a taxi to complete their mission.

However, their tranquility is shattered by the arrival of soldiers, prompting the boy to flee in terror. Alexander finds him cowering on a nearby street corner, his resolve strengthened: he will escort the boy to the border himself, no matter the obstacles that lie ahead.

As the misty veil of uncertainty shrouds the landscape, a somber boy recounts the harrowing tale of war and escape from his village, sharing tales of Selim’s unwavering friendship. The imposing border fence, a physical manifestation of barriers and boundaries, stretches before them like an insurmountable hurdle. As Alexander and the boy approach the divide, he confesses to deception, revealing that there is no “grandmother” awaiting him on the other side. In a desperate bid to escape detection, they retreat back to their vehicle, pursued by an Albanian border guard determined to enforce the rules.

Later, as they pause by the river’s tranquil waters, Alexander regales the boy with tales of Solomos, a poet whose life was forever intertwined with his native Greece and Italy. This 19th-century visionary, born on an Italian island yet imbued with Greek spirit, drew inspiration from the rebellion against the Ottomans. His Demotic Greek language, though imperfectly mastered, became a reflection of his desire to connect with the common people. Legend has it that Solomos would purchase words from peasants to improve his fluency in this unique dialect.

As they enter the rustic village, the air is filled with the lilting strains of an accordionist playing Pontic melodies, reminiscent of the region where Greeks faced a devastating massacre at the hands of the Turks in the 1920s. The bride, resplendent in white, leads the wedding procession, followed by the beaming groom and the jubilant party carrying intricately crafted chairs. Alexander arrives with his loyal dog in tow, only to meet his housekeeper, Urania, who hesitantly agrees to take custody of the canine companion. As the festivities unfold around them, the tantalizing prospect of a high metal fence looms large, its presence echoed by the curious boys suspended from the perimeter like human ornaments, their faces aglow with wonder.

As Alexander and the young boy stroll along the weathered pier, the weight of his physical and emotional torment becomes almost palpable. Slumped on a bench, Alexander’s exhaustion is mirrored by the desolate landscape before him. The boy, sensing his distress, offers to fetch words of comfort for his troubled companion. As Alexander’s thoughts wander, he finds himself transported back to a carefree cruise with Anna and his family, their laughter and joy now tempered by the bittersweet tinge of nostalgia. Once more, the voice of Anna wafts through the ether, her recollections weaving a tapestry of memories that blend seamlessly into the present.

Alexander’s reverie takes him to a sun-kissed beach, where the same party from his past has reassembled, their merriment now tempered by the passing of time. His urge to climb to the summit of a small cliff is met with Anna’s disapproving cry of “traitor,” but Alexander presses on, driven by an insatiable curiosity. At the top, he discovers a weathered stone etched with an enigmatic message: “Christos, Vassillis, Alexander, Summer ‘39.” As he gazes out at the horizon, a passing airplane’s contrail serves as a poignant reminder of his current reality.

The scene shifts to find Alexander standing on the pier once more, his gaze drawn to a group of people rushing by, their faces etched with concern. Among them is his doctor, who informs him that it is time for Alexander to submit to the hospital’s care, as the pain has become too unbearable to ignore. The weight of this decision settles upon him like a shroud.

As the narrative jumps forward, we find Alexander venturing into the depths of an abandoned building under construction, driven by his desperation to locate the Albanian boy who had vanished into thin air. His search ultimately leads him to the distraught youngster, still reeling from the tragic loss of his friend Selim, the older boy who had brought him to Thessaloniki in the first place. Selim’s life was cut short when a bus ran over him, leaving behind only memories and a sense of profound sorrow.

Alexander, moved by the boy’s anguish, accompanies him and several of Selim’s friends as they pay their respects at the morgue where his body lies. As the group approaches the somber chamber, Alexander takes it upon himself to distract the guard, allowing the young boy to slip inside and pilfer Selim’s clothes in a poignant display of grief.

In the aftermath, a mournful clarinet melody accompanies the friends as they perform a ritual cremation of Selim’s garments, their collective sorrow suspended in a sea of melancholy.

As Alexander enters the hospital room, his intention is clear: “I came to say goodbye.” Yet, his mother’s physical presence belies the advanced neurological disease ravaging her mind. Oblivious to her son’s whispered farewell, she remains a shell of her former self. The reverie of their idyllic family picnic on the beach resumes, with the sky darkening and the group scrambling for cover – all except Alexander, who frantically searches for Anna, only to find her standing alone by the waves. Back in reality, his mother’s fragile form crumples into his arms, and he gently lays her back in bed. The poignant soliloquy that follows is a lamentation of life’s cruel unfairness and Alexander’s own regrets, a cathartic expression of sorrow and longing.

Later, Alexander embarks on a solitary nighttime stroll when an unexpected companion, the Albanian boy, joins him. The young man announces his plans to depart on a boat, bound for a mysterious destination. “Stay with me,” Alexander implores, knowing the vessel won’t set sail for two more hours. Together, they board a bus, which becomes a microcosm of life’s unpredictable journey.

As the vehicle navigates the cityscape, three cyclists clad in yellow oilskins whizz by, their presence punctuating the quiet ride. The trio remains alone until the “Disembodied” stop, where a street demonstration unfolds, and a man bearing a red flag, clearly an activist, joins the bus. A young couple, embroiled in a heated argument, also boards at this juncture. The three cyclists reappear, now accompanied by the bus. At the next stop, the quarrelsome pair exits, replaced by three musicians who break into song. Their melodic interlude ends as abruptly as it began, and they depart at the “Conservatory” stop.

Solomos, a poet of great renown, steps onto the bus, taking his seat across from Alexander and the boy. With an air of quiet contemplation, he recites his unfinished masterpiece, “Easter Sunday.” As he reaches the poem’s concluding lines, Solomos pauses, struggling to complete the final thought: “Sweet is the life…and…” His words trail off, leaving the listener in suspended anticipation. When he departs the bus, Alexander poses a poignant inquiry: “Tomorrow, how long does it last?”

As the journey nears its end, Alexander and the Albanian boy disembark, once more encountering the trio of cyclists clad in yellow oilskins. Their parting gifts the boy with an opportunity to reunite with his friends, who await him on a tractor-trailer merging with the departing boat. With the darkness closing in, Alexander drives the young man to the dock, where he disappears into the throng of people and the fading vessel, leaving behind only the faintest glimmer of hope.

As Alexander’s car glides to a halt at the red light, the city’s relentless pace momentarily stalls. The hue of the stoplight shifts, but his vehicle remains frozen in place, a stationary monument on the avenue. The surrounding traffic flows effortlessly around him, leaving his car isolated and still. The cycle repeats itself, with the light once again turning crimson, yet Alexander’s vehicle refuses to budge. Suddenly, the engine roars to life, and he surges forward, hurtling down the avenue at a breakneck pace.

The next scene unfolds like a tableau vivant as Alexander enters his seaside abode, an empty shell of memories past. In a gentle whisper, Anna’s voiceover shares her thoughts, penned in a heartfelt letter, detailing the joyous celebration marking Katerina’s special day. As he wanders through the desolate halls, the echoes of his footsteps serve as a poignant reminder of the silence that once filled this space.

The back door swings open, and Alexander emerges onto the beach, where his family gathers by the shore, their harmonious voices carrying on the breeze. Anna approaches him, and they sway to the rhythm of the moment, their steps entwined in a tender dance. The group’s collective energy builds, and soon all are lost in the joyous movement, only to fade away, leaving the couple alone once more.

Alexander’s thoughts turn to the future, and he recalls a query he once posed to Anna: “How long does tomorrow last?” Her response, whispered with conviction, echoes through his mind: “An eternity and a day.” With that, she departs, leaving Alexander to face the sea, his words carrying on the wind as he speaks in Greek: korphoula mou (my little flower), xenitis (exile), and argathini (very late at night). The darkness closes in, shrouding him in contemplation.