In 1890,Russian writer Anton Chekov writes short stories in newspapers to feed his family. He achieves success in the form of Pushkin prize. However, he decides to meet convicts at Sakhalin when one of this brothers die due to tuberculosis.
Algeria, 1954. Two very different men thrown together by a world in turmoil are forced to flee across the Atlas mountains. Daru, the reclusive teacher, has to escort Mohamed, a villager accused of murder.
In occupied France during the WWII, a German officer is murdered. The collaborationist Vichy government decides to pin the murder on six petty criminals. Loyal judges are called in to convict them as quickly as possible.
a boy in middle of Algeian metamorphose. French in an Arab world. friendship, love, family, independence of country and France as refuge. a lot of memories. and a meeting. so, old things about a French wound. and the exercise to tell , again, a well-known story is not a bad idea but basic problem remains the manner. this is the fundamental sin of movie. same drama in same colors, in same pathetic sauce. it is predictable but more. it becomes a story about nothing. sure, memory is a precious gift but its translation is essential. in another case, it is an ashes isle. not convincing, not realistic, only a sorrow song. without words, without soul, only moral lesson and fight to present a trauma who has same clothes. but, it is a nice movie. and this is enough, at first view.
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