Browse
Every film we have shown, the months they arrived in, and the people who made them. A film plays for the month of its selection; after that it stays here as the record of that month, with everything except the player.
Everything one man owned, read aloud in the order he lost it.
A greenhouse of blooms that smell of rot, and the botanist who loves them.
Three seasons in a border greenhouse where everything grows except certainty.
Three sisters, one well, and the arithmetic of a drought year.
A hospital cleaner and a night-porter share four minutes of stillness before dawn.
A grieving florist folds the sea one flower at a time.
The last office still drawing maps by hand refuses to close.
The parlour kept for guests who never come.
Two customs officers, one shipment nobody wants to open.
A runaway and a driver at the end of his final route.
A harbour town keeps vigil for a boat that may not return.
A grandmother retraces the coastal paths she walked as a girl, before the water took them.
An ageing actor finally gets his lead, for one night, in an empty theatre.
A city recorded only by the shaking of its windows.