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When it ended, Mara sat in the dark of her apartment, tears sliding down her face, her hands shaking. She hadn't felt this way since she was twenty-two, watching Tarkovsky for the first time in a dingy arthouse theater.

Over the next month, she watched eleven films. Each one was unlike anything in existence. Some were silent. One was a nine-minute loop of a woman peeling an orange, which somehow contained the entire emotional arc of a failed marriage. Another was a three-hour documentary about a single tree in Kyrgyzstan that made her reconsider the nature of time. cinewood net movies better