There is a thoroughly visual poetry to be found in Georgian films. Opting for a wordless approach seems necessary, especially since in totalitarian regimes words are stripped of meaning quickly. Chokheli shows a village on the edge of the snow-covered Caucasus Mountains, probably similar to the one in which he was born. Over the images, the sound of shotgun fire is heard. More sounds follow: people chatting, dogs barking – but no figure is in sight yet. There follow close-ups of houses, more voices, but still no sign of human beings. By the time the camera frames the mountain view from the window of a ruin it is clear that no humans will ever appear – this is an abandoned village and we are listening to the sounds of the past. The parade of sound continues: a wedding, a funeral. The haunting poem eventually takes us to a bedroom where, over a shot of an empty wooden bed, we hear a man and woman whispering and making love – the shadows have grown, and the day is almost over.