Back in 1983, my local community was revolutionized by the arrival of a film crew headed by a young filmmaker with an Irish name - Martin Donovan - and a slight foreign accent. We are all in the film one way or another. It took some time for us to see the finished product. Martin Donovan himself came over to show us the film. We all remember that day very well. There we were, part of the pacifist dream of an artist with a transparent soul and a heart of gold. Since then, two or three times a year the film on video cassette is shown in somebody's house. It always becomes a motive for celebration. What hit me, last time I saw it, was the relevance of its message. The film is told through the eyes of the boy and with his strange language of wisdom. The fact that the film is not available in any shape of form remains a mystery.
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