From the beginning it seems strangely queer about this couple's relationship. It's more robotic than human, and in that sense it's inexplicably horrible. All the rituals practiced in a too plain and set-up way, notwithstanding the too elegantly polite talking manner, as well as the life style led by the female character also add to the perplexity for a possible interpretation issued from a rational critical mind …But all of a sudden I somehow get the idea that this film is presented totally in the perspective of that young bus driver, that serenity and simplicity actually imboay the poems he writes in the every-day life, instead of being given the forms. What he sees is the world he seeks them all in the composition. And reality itself captured by the camera is merely a glimpse of the other real world like a mirror reflection that shines and spins in a everlasting storm made of silver fragments of silence.
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