It’s like a constant feeling of pressure, where the walls, even though made of thick iron, begin to show here and there small cracks, letting the smoke hiss, as a prelude to a great general scream capable of dulling the sky.

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Two individuals, searching for a voice they never had, meet, generating friction and something resembling heat, which they decide to call future, only to be trampled on more and more, little by little, inside this box shaped by incomprehension and detachment. They feel but do not speak because what arises sounds like jagged shards of glass after an accident. They understand each other only in imaginary dialogues that never fully materialize, spreading expectations throughout the house, at work, and across their bodies. Outside the home, there’s the estrangement of a cryptic world, hiding banal yet indifferent everyday figures, like the most distant planet whose name they will never know. Alienation by millimeters extends to everything. Almost nothing goes out. Almost nothing comes in. And a child appears, born to parents who emotionally reek of sterility.

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Giant’s Kettle, by Markku Hakala and Mari Käki, manages, with perfect sobriety, to be visually stunning, symmetrical, and captivating. Frames crafted with precision and excellent taste. What could be monotonous instead works as a magnet, leading you to wander from one detail to another on an almost still screen. Impeccable cinematography, oscillating between stagnant coldness and the almost magical dreamlike quality of a tragedy. The lead couple, played by Henri Malkki and Kirsi Paananem, give movement to characters who struggle with and are bewildered by anything that is not fixed and immutable. Without speaking, they manage to convey the intentions their characters release into the world, even as these same characters seem to believe that one wrong word will trigger the end of all things. A film that shows that beneath an extremely monotonous surface, the underground may be cracking with hunger and madness.