The Visit

Deep in a Polish forest stands a nursing home. On weekdays the residents lead a quiet existence, but Sunday is big day, because that’s when friends and family are welcome to visit. Preparations start from the crack of dawn. While one resident has a decent shave, another makes his bed, and the staff ensures the common area is welcoming. All this takes place in silence, and the only sound is of the loud chorus of birds. There are shots of carefully positioned family photos, silent witnesses to former lives. Mutedly, a few residents wait in the garden for the arrival of the visitors. They smoke, pace up and down, and react to any sound coming from the gate their guests will come in through. But the bumpy country lane leading to the nursing home remains empty, and the tension is etched into every face. Hours pass, and morning makes way for afternoon. Some residents walk about like restless caged animals while thunderclouds chase away the sun. They can stay outside for a little while longer, but then they will really have to give up. The rain pelts down on the garden, but the visitors didn’t come. Did they lose their way in the magic forest? Were they held back by the storm? Will they come next week? There is not a word of dialogue, but the collective dejection is palpable.