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It's a "useless" film. Or rather, we could misunderstand the protagonist's uselessness and his paralysis in facing life: "Suggested by even trivial events, the most acute sense of not being adequate for the things to do occasionally awakened in me." But if there were a real awareness in realizing the non-existence of free will, paralysis would flow smoothly: "When anxiety became lighter, it faded into a dream."
Everything is normal in having a "crazy as a Horse" awareness of Victor aka Dino Raider, of the inevitability of "everything happens": "I constantly feel like I am living as if under the threat of an impending tragedy." Let's say it's on a different speed frequency from the chase for material achievements: "I have always been surprised when I observe others, seeing how different they are from me. How well they have managed to find their place in the world."
The guilt of not being in tune with the system is unforgivable. It's unacceptable that being petrified comes from within us and isn't caused by external factors, and the petrification of the outer shell increasingly emphasizes that we are not this body: "I find myself in a state of suspension. I can readily start anything over."
And the calm and poise interposed with the external pressure that tends to crush you, especially mentally, only serves to stimulate nostalgia for the other world, where ancestral powers resurface for defense, allowing us to see a bit more of the invisible surrounding us: "There exists another world, that's what we feel and what terrifies us." And the acceptance of madness ("Yes, I talk to myself, I know") is a symptom of ancient soulfulness where a millennial wanderlust takes over and we find ourselves not assigning any function: "It's these small things that drive me crazy."
You find yourself lost and, wandering, you begin to mystify desperate feelings when, ultimately, the depth initially conquered anguishes you by surprising you disoriented in front of nothingness, only to then beatify yourself in all this absence that allows us to see beyond the pupils: "Everything ensured I lost the thread." The friend is real, in his quality as a ghost, and the love for the son is shocking in how much it isn't "predetermined," in how much it respects the vital energy of everything: "And I can't even find the strength to read Mickey Mouse with you."
The music, akin to that of a Kitano film, reinforces an atmosphere "as if I perceived something that happened without me having lived it." The garage as an anti-cave, with a jumble of objects from the past and future. The deflated raft as Noah's Ark seeking salvation from a drowning of the predetermined: "The sensation of living somewhat ahead of others." The pipe's knife, identical to how my father had it, identical...
The finale then seems to turn for a change of essence, a leap to transform pain into conscious suffering, into stardust: "The walls were falling, the old walls were falling, and History was taking it upon itself to prove me right. But practically, it was as if nothing had happened at all."
"Should I take anything else? No, we're coming back anyway." Eternity is long. Potatoes, Onions, Lightbulb, we're coming back anyway...
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