Landscape in the Mist
Two children leave Athens to search for the father they’ve never met, said to be in Germany. That’s the hook of Theo Angelopoulos’s Landscape in the Mist, but for film is really about how we all stumble through life chasing things that may never exist.
Angelopoulos weaves myth and reality with remarkable grace. The opening is pure cinema: darkness, a child’s voice reciting a creation story, then a crack of light through the door. From there the journey unfolds in fragments—encounters that are tender, brutal, or dreamlike.
Eleni Karaindrou’s score drifts over foggy roads and empty stations, deepening the sense of exile. The children press on, dwarfed by history and representing a Greece that mirrors wider Europe—fractured, scarred by its past and oddly indifferent to its future. And just when despair threatens, Angelopoulos offers sudden joy—a motorbike ride to the sea—fleeting and unforgettable.
Slow, strange, and beautiful, it’s less about childhood than about all of us, walking through the mist in search of light.
Angelopoulos weaves myth and reality with remarkable grace. The opening is pure cinema: darkness, a child’s voice reciting a creation story, then a crack of light through the door. From there the journey unfolds in fragments—encounters that are tender, brutal, or dreamlike.
Eleni Karaindrou’s score drifts over foggy roads and empty stations, deepening the sense of exile. The children press on, dwarfed by history and representing a Greece that mirrors wider Europe—fractured, scarred by its past and oddly indifferent to its future. And just when despair threatens, Angelopoulos offers sudden joy—a motorbike ride to the sea—fleeting and unforgettable.
Slow, strange, and beautiful, it’s less about childhood than about all of us, walking through the mist in search of light.
Mini Review: Two children leave Athens in search of a father said to be in Germany, but Theo Angelopoulos’s Landscape in the Mist is really about how we all chase things that may never exist. Myth and reality blur in fragments that are tender, brutal, and dreamlike. With Eleni Karaindrou’s mournful score drifting over fog and empty stations, this is cinema as allegory: slow, strange, and unforgettable.
Watch the Trailer