Sitting at his window, Mr De Vries is drifting off in his armchair, entranced by the dance of the snowflakes in the wind. Suddenly, there is a knock on the door. In what looks like it could be his last ever effort, the old man gets up and makes his way to the door with the help of his walking frame. There he finds a package containing some precious souvenirs.
With this nice piece of narrative subterfuge, screenwriter Fiona Van Heemstra and director Mascha Halberstad remind us that we are the sum of our experiences, both past and present. Because the person visiting Mr De Vries on this day is none other than himself, a double from his past who has come to give him a last spark of life. Despite his advanced years, Mr De Vries still yearns to slide on the ice as he used to when he was younger.
In this wordless film, a gorgeous amount of care has been taken with the sets and accessories, giving us poignant insights into the identity of the old man. Thanks to a gramophone we discover the music that puts a groove in his step, and his neatly folded shirts tell us something about him too, as do the cobwebs in his workshop; the same is true, of course, of the portrait of him and his wife that he slots carefully into the net of his walking frame, and the medals adorning the clothes he wore on his last trip. These tiny details help us form a picture of a man who has loved, excelled, dreamt and, in short, lived. This is a lovely stop-motion tale about the end of a life.
