Community Reviews

The Dickensian Aspect (S05E06)

Airdate: February 10th 2008

Written by: Ed Burns Directed by: Seith Mann

Running Time: 58 minutes

As The Wire approached its poignant conclusion, its trajectory irrevocably altered by HBO’s decision to reduce the final season from thirteen episodes to a mere ten, a palpable sense of narrative compression settled over the proceedings. Faced with the imperative to tie together the sprawling tapestry of Baltimore’s interconnected institutions within this truncated framework, the show’s creators, David Simon and Ed Burns, increasingly resorted to the strategic reinsertion of characters from earlier seasons. These appearances, while ostensibly serving the vital function of reaffirming the series’ profound commitment to continuity, often risked diminishing into little more than functional cameos – spectral reminders of what once was, summoned primarily as narrative mechanisms rather than fully realised returns. The Dickensian Aspect, the fifth episode of the fifth and final season, exemplifies this tendency with particular poignancy, deploying figures from Seasons Two and Four as fleeting, emotionally charged punctuation marks within the season’s accelerating descent.

First such manifestation of this spectral return belongs to Nick Sobotka, the proud but ultimately broken stevedore from the ravaged dockworker union of Season Two. His reappearance is jarringly specific: having seemingly vanished into the ether of the federal witness protection programme following the catastrophic collapse of his world, Nick materialises to stand as a solitary, bitter protestor. He heckles Mayor Tommy Carcetti’s hollow ceremony inaugurating a gleaming new waterfront development – a project whose very existence signifies the permanent erasure of the docking jobs his union fought so desperately, and ultimately futilely, to preserve. His target is the corrupt developer, Adam Krawczyk, the embodiment of the forces that devoured the working-class livelihoods of the docks. Accompanied by a mere three other protesters, Nick’s act of defiance is profoundly isolated, a futile gesture against the juggernaut of gentrification and political expediency. His subsequent arrest for disorderly conduct feels like a grim, inevitable footnote, a final, quiet extinguishing of the flame that once burned for the working waterfront. It serves primarily to underscore the absolute victory of the forces Nick battled – the docks are gone, the jobs are gone, and even the memory of the struggle is being paved over, leaving only this ghostly, ineffectual protest.

Even more devastating, and arguably the emotional core of the episode’s use of the past, is the return of Randy Wagstaff. Once the sweet, intelligent, and resourceful foster child whose potential seemed tragically bound for the streets, Randy is now a profoundly altered figure. Interviewed by Bunk Moreland in a bleak group home setting, he is ostensibly a potential witness regarding the murders in Marlo Stanfield’s vacant row houses. Yet, the intervening two years, steeped in the systemic neglect and abuse, have wrought a horrifying transformation. The vulnerable boy is gone, replaced by a hardened, cynical "gangsta" wannabe who reflexively rejects any cooperation with the police, spouting the street code with a chilling, performative bravado. The true horror lies not just in his refusal to help, but in the casual cruelty he exhibits towards younger boys within the home – a sickening replication of the abuse he himself endured. This brief, unflinching scene is arguably one of the most devastating in the entire series.

While these echoes from prior seasons resonate with melancholic weight, the present-day narrative hurtles forward with its own grim momentum. Marlo Stanfield, consolidating his dominion over the entire Baltimore drug trade, operates with chilling confidence. At the New Day Co-Op meeting, his arrogance is absolute; he openly confesses to the murder of Proposition Joe, the elder statesman whose wisdom and connections he so ruthlessly exploited. With the Greeks' supply now under his control, Marlo effectively dissolves the Co-Op itself. His offer of the Eastside territory to Slim Charles is met with the latter’s quiet, principled refusal – a refusal rooted in loyalty to Joe’s memory and a code Marlo has long since discarded. This vacuum is instantly, eagerly filled by Cheese, Joe’s treacherous nephew, whose glee at accepting this "payment" for his betrayal is palpable, cementing his status as a hollow, opportunistic figure utterly devoid of the honour his uncle possessed.

Yet Marlo’s empire, for all its apparent solidity, remains under siege. The near-mythical survival of Omar Little, and the failure of Chris Partlow, Snoop, and the rest of Marlo’s crew to eliminate him, has instilled a rare flicker of unease. Chris, acutely aware that Omar will retaliate, is visibly stressed; the hunt intensifies to the point where Monk, in a particularly brazen and desperate move, poses as a plainclothes officer to glean street intelligence. Omar, nursing a serious leg wound sustained during his miraculous escape, hides in the maintenance room of the very building where he was ambushed. His resilience, however, is undimmed. He ventures back onto the streets, robbing "Fatface" Rick of his gun, and swiftly uses it to wound one of Marlo’s soldiers and deliberately incinerate an SUV containing Marlo’s cash – a direct, symbolic challenge to the drug lord’s authority, proving Omar’s legend is far from extinguished.

Simultaneously, Jimmy McNulty’s increasingly elaborate and dangerous charade – fabricating a serial killer targeting the homeless to secure resources for a meaningful investigation – achieves unintended, far-reaching consequences. While it fails to secure him the manpower and budget he craved, the story explodes into national news, inadvertently overshadowing Carcetti’s waterfront ceremony. Carcetti, ever the astute politician, seizes the moment the same day, holding a press conference passionately decrying the victimisation of the homeless, blaming it squarely on Republican governor's welfare cuts. Norman Wilson immediately recognises the speech’s potent utility for Carcetti’s looming gubernatorial campaign, demonstrating how tragedy is effortlessly co-opted for political gain, a dynamic McNulty’s scheme has inadvertently amplified.

McNulty’s initial optimism, however, quickly curdles into operational frustration. The intense publicity makes planting new "victims" impossible without alerting regular patrol units. Lester Freamon, frustrated by the wiretap’s limitations, reluctantly brings in Detective Sydnor, and crucially, identifies Marlo’s innovative use of cellphones solely as image-based signalling devices for his crews. This sparks McNulty’s next, even more ethically abhorrent escalation: his fictional killer will now "abduct" the homeless. The charade involves McNulty forcibly relocating a mentally incapacitated man, Larry, from the streets of Baltimore to a shelter in Richmond, using Larry’s photo and documents to fabricate "messages" from the non-existent kidnapper – a grotesque exploitation of the city’s most invisible citizens.

In stark, morally clarifying contrast, Bunk Moreland doggedly pursues the actual murders – Marlo’s victims in the vacant houses – through traditional, evidence-based police work. Despite the near-catastrophic contamination of evidence in the crime lab (rendering much of it legally unusable), Bunk’s meticulous approach begins yielding results. He methodically connects the dots, inching towards linking the vacant house killings to the earlier murder of Devar Manigault. This connection is fuelled by the anguish of Raylene Lee (Shamika Cotton), Devar’s former girlfriend, who blames her estranged son, Michael Lee, convinced he had prior knowledge of Devar’s fate. Bunk’s progress, achieved through old-fashioned legwork and respect for procedure, stands in stark, ironic counterpoint to McNulty’s self-destructive fraud, suggesting the show’s core belief in the value of doing the job right, even when the system is broken.

Written by Ed Burns and directed by Seith Mann, The Dickensian Aspect encapsulates the fifth season’s potent duality. Its undeniable strength lies in its unflinching commitment to a consistently dark, gritty tone, punctuated by the series’ signature ironic twists. The episode masterfully demonstrates how McNulty’s desperate scheme backfires spectacularly: the fake serial killer narrative, intended to fund police work, instead becomes Carcetti’s political springboard and inadvertently aids Bunk’s legitimate investigation through the sheer volume of attention it generates. The profound irony that Bunk, working diligently within the system’s constraints, appears closer to cracking Marlo’s operation than McNulty, who has shattered ethical and legal boundaries, is the episode’s most potent thematic statement – a reminder that systemic rot often corrupts the very solutions meant to fix it.

Yet, the season’s persistent weaknesses remain evident. The Baltimore Sun subplot, despite its thematic relevance to the erosion of truth and institutional decay, still feels frustratingly disconnected from the central police and political narratives. The character of Scott Templeton, the ambitious, morally flexible reporter, remains perplexingly inconsistent. His interaction with a homeless Iraq War veteran suffering from PTSD, resulting in a powerful article, creates a jarring dissonance. It momentarily suggests a capacity for authentic journalism and compassion, muddying the otherwise clear critique of the Sun’s decline and Templeton’s role as a symbol of its failings. This ambiguity, while perhaps reflecting real-world complexity, weakens the subplot’s narrative thrust within the season’s tightly wound crisis.

Furthermore, the scene where a drunken, despairing McNulty rants at the statue of Revolutionary War hero General Samuel Smith feels unnecessarily theatrical. While intended to symbolise McNulty’s fractured connection to Baltimore’s history and his own sense of failed purpose, its staginess stands out against the episode’s otherwise grounded realism. It risks melodrama, momentarily pulling the audience out of the meticulously constructed world to deliver a message that might have resonated more powerfully through subtler character beats.

The Dickensian Aspect is ultimately a powerful, if flawed, piece of The Wire’s concluding symphony. It utilises its spectral cameos not merely as fan service, but as devastating shorthand for the city’s cyclical tragedies – Nick Sobotka embodying the death of the working class, Randy Wagstaff the crushing of childhood innocence by systemic neglect. While the narrative compression necessitated by HBO’s budget cuts occasionally exposes the mechanics of storytelling, the episode’s core strengths – its unflinching gaze at institutional failure, its masterful irony, and its profound character moments, particularly Randy’s transformation and Bunk’s quiet dedication – ensure it resonates with the series’ enduring power.

RATING: 6/10 (++)

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• IMDB: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt29644189/

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Recientemente, me vi una película llamada Así somos, un filme de 2012 dirigida por Alex Kurtzman que nos habla sobre la empatía, el perdón y la reconstrucción de vínculos rotos. Un drama familiar, cuyo guion estuvo a cargo del mismo cineasta en colaboración con Jody Lambert y Roberto Orci. Una de las cosas que más resalto de la producción es sobre la trama que toca, sobre la familia y el perdón, donde muchas veces nos alejamos de nuestros seres queridos por la mentira, que pueden cambiar las perspectivas de las cosas. Un filme que vale la pena ver y reflexionar sobre este tema tan interesante.

La película nos habla de Sam Harper, un ejecutivo que tiene problemas en la empresa donde trabajo y le llega una noticia inesperada, como es la muerte de su padre, aunque rápidamente nos damos cuentas como este no tenía una buena relación con su progenitor. La noticia la tomó con ligereza, pero aun así fue al funeral del mismo. Pero inesperadamente también se entera de que tiene una hermana, a la cual su padre le dejó 150.000 dólares. La hermana de Sam se llama Frankie, quien tiene problemas de alcoholismo, y aunque no se toque en la película, paso a creer que es porque nunca tuvo una relación con su padre. Allí se empieza a desarrollar la trama, con los hermanos conociéndose, pero ambos con problemas para asimilar la situación.

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As is often the case in most families, there are always secrets, siblings we don't know about, and envy because the father usually decides to stay with one of the families. A film in which the protagonist's mother also has a rather distant relationship with her son, all because of overprotection, because I believe that truth is the most important thing above all else, that any problem can be solved, and that when there is love and family, anything is possible. Sam is a complicated character, and as he gets to know his sister Frankie and his nephew, he begins to question his own family history, his prejudices, and the emotional legacy left by his father. Frankie is also a complicated character, with problems with drinking and her son's bad behavior. Not knowing that they were siblings, the relationship was good, but when they find out, the real drama begins.

The story may be somewhat cliché and repetitive, but I appreciate the themes it touches on, such as reconciliation between family members and empathy towards others. We often repeat the mistakes of our parents, and it is important to break the emotional cycle in order to move forward without resentment. Beyond blood ties, what unites the characters is their willingness to connect, understand, and forgive. This film leaves us with a powerful message, which is why I think it's worth watching. It's entertaining and takes us through a range of emotions, from laughter, as it has a touch of humor, to the inevitable family drama that can bring us to tears. But most importantly, it captures our attention from beginning to end. The director did a great job with the story, and I thought the dialogue was spot on, although to be perfect I would have liked to delve deeper into the characters' stories and see their development.

Chris Pine played the role of Sam, while Elizabeth Banks brought Frankie to life. Both did a magnificent job, portraying their characters very well and conveying what they wanted to convey to the audience through the screen. Their performances were quite realistic, especially in the saddest moments where their looks showed the moment. Michelle Pfeiffer played Sam's mother, and I also liked her performance. Overall, I thought the cast was perfect, both the main characters and the supporting characters in the story. On the other hand, we have the cinematography by Salvatore Totino, where we often appreciate the intimate moments of different scenes, with the family scenes, the moment they find out about things, and the reconciliation that can take place.

Como suele ocurrir en la mayoría de las familias, siempre suelen guardar secretos, de hermanos que no conocemos, donde existe le envidia porque normalmente el padre decide quedarse con una de las familias. Una película donde la madre del protagonista también tiene una relación bastante lejana con su hijo, todo por la sobreprotección, pues la verdad ante todo creo que es lo más importante, cualquier problema se puede resolver, cuando hay amor y más de familia, todo es posible. Sam es un personaje complicado y al ir teniendo trato con su hermana Frankie y su sobrino, este comienza a cuestionar su propia historia familiar, sus prejuicios y el legado emocional que dejó su padre. Frankie también es un personaje complicado, con problemas con las bebidas y el mal comportamiento de su hijo, hace que al no saber que eran hermanos, la relación era buena, pero al enterarse, comienza el verdadero drama.

Puede que la historia sea algo cliché, repetitiva, pero me quedo con el tema que toca, la reconciliación entre familiares, la empatía hacia las demás personas. Muchas veces solemos repetir los errores de nuestros padres y es importante romper el ciclo emocional para continuar adelante, sin rencor. Más allá de la sangre, lo que une a los personajes es la voluntad de conectar, entender y perdonar. Una película que nos deja un gran mensaje, por lo que creo que vale la pena verla, es entretenida, pasamos por varios emociones, desde la risa, pues tiene un toque de humor, pero el drama de familia que nunca puede faltar, que nos puede sacar las lágrimas, pero lo más importante es que capta nuestra atención de principio a fin. Un gran trabajo por parte del director con la historia, los diálogos me parecieron acertados, aunque para ser perfecta me fuese gustado profundizar más en la historia de los personajes y ver el desarrollo de los mismos.

Chris Pine interpretó el papel de Sam, mientras que a Frankie le dio vida Elizabeth Banks, ambos haciendo un magnífico trabajo, interpretando muy bien sus personajes y traspasando la pantalla lo que querían transmitir al público. Sus actuaciones bastante reales, sobre todo en los momentos más tristes donde sus miradas mostraban el momento. Michelle Pfeiffer interpretó a la madre de Sam y su actuación también fue de mi agrado. En general, el cast me pareció perfecto, tanto de los personajes principales, como más secundarios de la historia. Por otro lado, tenemos la fotografía del filme por Salvatore Totino, donde muchas veces apreciamos el momento íntimo de diferentes escenas, con las escenas familiares, el momento de que se enteran de las cosas y la reconciliación que se puede llegar a dar.

A.R. Rahman was responsible for the soundtrack of the film Así somos, with really good compositions, especially during the sad moments where we can connect with the scenes and the sad atmosphere. The film was a great success in this regard. The film is a good film, with a very well-executed story. I didn't find it tedious at any point, I liked the ending, I think the cinematography is impeccable, and the soundtrack lives up to what one expects as a viewer. This is a film that I recommend. It has a good story, which doesn't start in the best way in terms of the events that take place, but with a pleasant ending. I hope you get to see it.

A.R. Rahman fue el encargado de la banda sonora de la película Así somos, con composiciones realmente buenas, sobre todos los momentos tristes donde podemos conectar con las escenas, con la atmosfera triste. Un filme que fue un gran acierto en este sentido. La película es una buena película, muy buena ejecutada la historia, no se me hizo tediosa en ningún momento, el desenlace me gustó, la fotografía me parece impecable y la banda sonora a la altura de lo que uno se espera como espectador. Esta es una película que se las recomiendo. Tiene una buena historia, que no comienza de la mejor manera en cuanto a los sucesos que se dan, pero con un final agradable. Espero que la vean.

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(NOTE: Capsule version of the review is available here.)

Widely, and often justly, regarded as the nadir of the Star Trek film franchise, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (1989) is a film of grand, even noble, ambition that is tragically undone by a profound lack of execution. It is generally regarded to be the worst in the history of the franchise, a reputation cemented by its messy plot, tonal dissonance, and, most notoriously, its shoddy production values. Yet, to dismiss it as a complete failure is to ignore the flickers of a compelling idea buried beneath its many flaws.

The film’s premise is undeniably intriguing. It begins on the Nimbus III, the “Planet of Galactic Peace,” a desolate wasteland in the Neutral Zone. Here, we are introduced to Sybok (Laurence Luckinbill), Spock’s long-lost Vulcan half-brother, who has rejected his people’s rigid logic in favour of embracing emotion. Sybok possesses a unique and dangerous ability: he can delve into a person’s psyche, uncover their deepest, most hidden pain, and then “take it away,” offering a form of cathartic release that is indistinguishable from religious conversion. Using this power, he amasses a devoted cult, seizes control of Paradise City, and takes hostage the three galactic consuls—the Federation’s cynicial St. John Talbot (David Warner), Klingon Korrd (Charles Cooper), and the Romulan Caithlin Dar (Cynthia Gouw). This act is merely a ruse to lure the newly refitted USS Enterprise to Nimbus III, where Sybok intends to commandeer the ship for his true quest: to journey to the mythical planet of Sha Ka Ree at the very centre of the galaxy, a place he believes is the abode of God.

This central theme—the confrontation between faith, science, and the human need for a higher power—was a bold and mature direction for the franchise, inspired by William Shatner’s own critical view of the televangelist scandals that plagued 1980s America. However, this serious philosophical inquiry is fatally compromised by Paramount Pictures’ commercial mandate. Fresh off the enormous success of the light-hearted and comedic Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, the studio insisted that its successor maintain a similar, crowd-pleasing tone. The result is a catastrophic tonal shift. The film lurches awkwardly from cheap, often crass, humour—such as the infamous scene in a Mos Eisley-style saloon featuring a four-breasted alien dancer, or Uhura’s moonlit fan dance seduction of Sybok’s followers—to the profound, almost mystical, journey to Sha Ka Ree. This dissonance renders the film’s climax, which could have been a powerful episode of The Original Series, into a messy conflic” that feels artificially padded with a pointless Klingon subplot (Captain Klaa, played by Tood Bryant, searching for glory) and unnecessary fan-service, like the opening sequence of the “Big Three” camping in Yosemite National Park.

The script, written by David Loughery from Shatner’s story, is another major failing. The dialogue is frequently clunky and uninspired, failing to capture the gravitas of its central theme. Even the potentially powerful scenes where Sybok forces Dr. McCoy and Spock to confront their deepest traumas—the death of McCoy’s father and Spock’s childhood rejection by his father—feel emotionally hollow and lame compared with the higher emotion and melodrama of Wrath of Khan or Search for Spock. The film’s ambition is further crippled by its notoriously poor special effects. With Industrial Light & Magic (ILM) unavailable due to their work on Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Paramount was forced to rely on the clearly subpar work of Bran Ferren . The result is a film that, despite a respectable $27-33 million budget , often looks like a cheap episode of the television series , its space vistas and alien landscapes lacking the polish and grandeur expected of a summer blockbuster.

Much of the blame for this disaster has historically fallen on William Shatner, who directed the film in an effort to prove his mettle behind the camera, following Leonard Nimoy’s successful directorial turns. Shatner himself has since admitted, “I failed horribly” . His vision was further hampered by a bitter conflict with Star Trek’s creator, Gene Roddenberry. Shatner’s story bore a striking resemblance to Roddenberry’s own unproduced 1975 project, The God Thing, leading Roddenberry to accuse him of plagiarism. This created a deep rift between the two men in the final years of Roddenberry’s life, and the creator of Star Trek vehemently distanced himself from the film, famously labelling it “apocryphal” . This official disavowal only served to legitimise the feelings of many “trekkies” who would prefer to pretend the film never existed.

It would, however, be unfair to declare the film utterly worthless. Jerry Goldsmith’s score is, as ever, a masterclass in orchestral storytelling, providing a sense of grandeur the visuals cannot match. Laurence Luckinbill’s Sybok is a genuinely compelling and charismatic antagonist, one of the more interesting in the franchise’s history. Most importantly, the core trio of Shatner, Nimoy, and DeForest Kelley retain their decades-old chemistry, bringing a sense of dignity and gravitas to even the most poorly written scenes. Their final confrontation with the malevolent entity masquerading as God—a being Kirk rightly suspects because it asks for a starship, a decidedly un-Godlike request—is the film’s one true moment of philosophical clarity.

At the box office, The Final Frontier was a significant disappointment, earning a domestic gross of just $52 million, less than half of its predecessor’s haul . It was savaged by critics and its failure was felt even more acutely because it arrived just as Star Trek: The Next Generation was finding its stride in its acclaimed second season. For a moment, it seemed the entire franchise was at a nadir, its cinematic future dead. Yet, this very disaster served as a necessary corrective. Paramount, recognising the need for a strong, sure hand, brought back Nicholas Meyer to helm the next film. The result, Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, was a critical and commercial triumph that provided the original crew with the dignified and poignant farewell they deserved, a stark and welcome contrast to the messy, ambitious, but ultimately failed odyssey of The Final Frontier.

RATING: 4/10 (+)

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As part of my recent addiction with the 4:3 aspect ratio and dive back into the more arthouse genre, I've found myself searching through the Internet in attempt to itch an itch that seems to never end. I think this is with some difficulty at the moment in finding good recent films. It appears as if much of the world's global distribution attempts have slightly shrunk. I remember back in the day I'd easily find international arthouse films to watch, endless lists and many articles on the upcoming releases through various festivals. Perhaps there are still some gems to find and I'm just not as patient; though today's little search had me finding a film that definitely seemed more up my alley: Crystal Swan. A film from Belarus which depicts the struggles of the mid 1990s as a result of the USSR's collapse, and how people attempted to push forward and escape their economic struggles. And yes, shot in beautiful 4:3!

I was intrigued by the film for its narrative which explored a person that was fooled into the concept of the American dream, the idea that the US was the place to be, after all, Belarus had lost almost everything. And a few short years after the USSR's collapse, the rise of nightclubs and American music had become the norm. The supposed western way of life had influenced the people, telling them that freedom was to party, drink and dance long into the night. Velya, a female DJ has the intent on following many out of the crumbling remains of Belarus and to the US where a wishful concept of immigration and success remains at the forefront of her mind. Of course, like for many others, the promised western dream never actually came, nor was it ever likely to happen in the first place. Resulting in a lot of challenges and personal growth back home. In a city of partying, no salaries with everyone selling everything they own, and rampant drug abuse, Velya sees a better life abroad. Though in her case the plans are put to a halt through an error in her visa application which results in it being rejected.

From the start it's already easy to feel for Velya. The film does a great job at showing some of the decaying aspects of the society. Where everyone around her is void of purpose. There's clearly no future there for her beyond drugs and crime. The film mostly shows this through the environment and her interacts with other people, where her life itself isn't all the bad. As the film progressed I noticed quite an interesting touch on the whole situation appearing in the dialogue, one line of which pertained to how there were no longer any jobs, but they can now party all night. During the Soviet Union they had all they needed, but now they've got what they fought so desperately for. Quite a strong line which speaks on the regret and the emptiness of what was won over in the people. Sure they had a bit more freedom, but that freedom meant nothing when everyone was barely capable of affording to live.

The film handles the total degradation of the society really well, even down to how nothing functions properly anymore. Nobody has any care in their work. People are basically mindless zombies that sit behind a piece of glass and pay attention to their makeup instead of working. Which makes perfect sense even today in our society in which people are made to work for a salary that doesn't offer much to live from. While the film does speak more fondly of the USSR through its characters, it doesn't ultimately suggest that everything should return to its former order, more that it portrays the difficulties of the present then for those characters. Sometimes this is shown through the former bureaucracy that the Soviet Union had and still somewhat maintained.

Though, one character in particular does spread that pain for the nation quite expressively. The pain in watching it sell itself off to foreign powers. The lack of direction and the degeneracy that followed. The history that was simply forgotten and underappreciated due to the sacrifices made. Quite an interesting set of takes from a character that stood out quite a bit. More on the nose in that sense. All of this works beautifully alongside the directing which shows that history rather well. Beautiful historic buildings and architecture, now covered in secondhand clothes to be sold. Markets of poverty. The crumbling architecture and infrastructure as the funding continues to disappear all around.

I ended up loving this film. Loving the directing and cinematography which utilised that 4:3 aspect ratio really well. The handheld feel of the camera movements which had everything feeling more reel and in motion. Especially with Velya as she attempts to find purpose and pursue that impossible American dream. The old, traditional interiors that she roams through under this pursuit, the rejection of those traditions and that culture which are portrayed like sad ghosts which linger on despite the changing times, incapable of moving forward just like the people. Even as Velya returns home to the most traditional and cultural space she knows.