Alle Kinder bis auf eines

In theory, there is a time for living and a time for dying. But occasionally the two coincide. In Jaba, on the Hungarian plains, the time for living is that of childhood, enjoying oneself, dreaming, running wild, inventing exciting adventures in a gutted car, King Kong or 2001, Space Odyssey, the time for nature and games, brawls in the woods and napping by the edge of the water, a time when the real world is replaced by a fantastic and enchanting one. The time for dying is when the brutal eruption of a friend’s death imposes melancholy and disarray on the joy of living and transforms yesterday’s playgrounds into a land of sadness and desolation, to be avoided at all cost. (Yann Lardeau)