Crepuscule

Crepuscule is a nice old word for twilight. Or perhaps even a little more than twilight; the time when dusk fades into night. This would be why the film is in black-and-white, because only black-and-white seems to have access to that which precedes darkness.
In the film, darkness descends on a young woman. Or better put: a girl. A silent, limber and beautiful girl. We are allowed to see her. All of her, while she explores her body in a mirror. Bravely played by Nellie Benner in a ground-breaking performance. She enters the city and the film closed and introverted. The film captures the girl from up close. Alone with the camera, the girl has no shame. She exposes herself. She dances. Strips, really.
She has a job at a gas station and none of her colleagues seem to consider her special. She keeps silent. All the same, an older man, whom cities just seem to be full of, does notice her. Effortlessly, actor Titus Muizelaar puts across this man’s sinister traits. He does not need words, either.
The twilight eventually turns darker, the appealing jazzy music more ominous and the city more disquieting. The girl plays with a gun and then we have obviously ended up with Godard, but that is where the film had wanted to be from the start. To be cinema, primarily. (GjZ)