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writers can choose to write only a paragraph describing a scene. what happens before it, and what happens after it, are up to the reader's imagination.

likewise, a filmmaker can jump from one scene to another, letting you guess what really happened in between.

they will tell you: it's part of the experience, to let you think through things, to decide for yourself what really happened, to let you imagine.

now, imagine: they do this because they can't figure out how to make the connections; they don't know how to write on; they don't know how to film on.

it is the easy way out, and at the same time gives you artistic credence.

perhaps this was the same mental block christian wagner faced when he made stille sehnsucht: a confrontation after the ice hockey match between aida/kristina's adoptive and natural parents transformed into the ending scene of her natural parents on the road home, with what looked like her jersey.

what words were exchanged? were promises made? was the truth revealed?

we can only guess.

but perhaps it is better this way, so that there would be no illusions. it is better for us not to know, so that we don't know what to expect, because the issue the film addresses is simply too grey: can we ever understand the feelings of both sets of parents?

if wagner were to try to give a definite answer, would it be satisfactory?

i am glad he didn't.

this was a great film which examined the complexities of human emotion with the aftermath of the bosnian war as a backdrop, backed by strong performances from the cast. the ending leaves you with a small smile; perhaps this was the best possible outcome for all.

wagner's brilliance lay in the fact that he didn't try to be too clever; he knew what he could and what he couldn't.