Distant Constellation is a gracious dream that takes place inside a retirement home in Istanbul, a place where time seems to hang still in the air, with characters of stories past, places far. In front of Mizrahi’s immaculate, patient, meditative camera, there are stories of childhood pain, like the one the old Armenian lady tells in a whisper. She dozes off mid-sentence, and then comes back. “I drop like that” she says. A blind photographer fiddles with his flash as he points his own camera back at us. A pianist flirts with Mizrahi, and finally proposes to her, somewhat hesitant. Two men ride the elevator, up and down, talking about their families. Outside the retirement home, there’s a new building in construction, and workers there talk about their future plans.

Distant Constellation is a film of tensions between the inside and the outside, times past and memories that keep it real, resignation and hope. Rhythmically, the cyclical balance between life and death unfolds, and it is poetry at its finest.

Sierra Ciliv