Der Tag vor dem Abend

An elderly woman—the filmmaker’s 93-year-old grandmother—lives alone in a house that has gradually become empty over the years. She walks slowly, performing each action with care: drawing the curtains, cooking, smoothing out the tablecloth, combing the fringes of the rug and hanging up laundry. These are the habits of a long life, filmed as if choreographed. The material world of the interior is also captured in precisely composed shots: a narrow runner in the hallway striped in various shades of red, the net-like patterns of the white curtains, the patterned glass in the doors to the room and a floral terrycloth towel that often falls to the floor. These everyday objects become vessels of memory, signs of a different time; the film itself becomes a repository of the past. The camera’s interest in structures and materiality extends to tears in family photos and colorful pixels enlarged to the point of abstraction. And it follows the ants. Max Koller has found a form all his own for DER TAG VOR DEM ABEND —an almost wordles film of farewell. (Birgit Kohler)