Kea

The scouts

A factory chimney falls and four people feel something—it's achingly sincere in a way that makes me suspicious, but Izagirre refuses to sentimentalize the ruin, which is almost enough to win me over.

Izagirre composes a quietly formal elegy around collective memory and industrial loss, letting the demolition serve as both literal event and temporal hinge; the restraint in the editing—the breathing room between moments—places this firmly in the lineage of European social cinema.

The decision to split perspective across four witnesses rather than centering one consciousness lets the film move through space and time without exposition, and that structural choice elevates what could have been nostalgic into something genuinely strange.