Podul de Flori

“I feel I’m robbing them of their youth. They’ve got no time to play.” On this farm, as in many others in Moldavia, the wife has left to work abroad, to repay debts, pay for the children’s studies, repair the house… leaving the father alone. Costica Arhir stakes his honour on bringing up his children well. He supervises their studies, cuts their hair, reads to them and mobilises them for the farm work, housework and cooking. The mother’s absence is offset by this collective organisation of work. But Podul de Flori is not just a daily chronicle of the self-sufficient life of a man with his children. It is also an pedagogical film. Not one of the father’s actions goes unexplained, not one order given without a reason. He transforms his life into a theatre play, where chores become games, where his children are both actors and audience. The family has many reminders of the mother’s existence: a parcel in the post, a short phone conversation, a drawing showing her in a black dress and large hat in blazing sunshine, and by the length of the film itself stretching over several seasons. Sometimes, Costica talks alone in front of the camera, listing the day’s good and bad results. In these moments, the status of the film changes and gives us the key: if, for the filmmaker, it is initially a moving description of the Moldavian farmers’ worsening situation, for Costica, it is the cleverest way of writing to his wife and giving her news of the family. The film then becomes a mirror: seen by the mother, it is everything she misses. (Yann Lardeau)