From the Age of Lightheartedness (Aus dem Zeitalter des Übermuts)

In From the Age of Lightheartedness, German filmmaker Klaus Wyborny takes as his ostensible point of departure the idea that a man’s "real story" begins when he leaves his mother – a point of departure that’s soon turned on ist headin this droll overly leisurely meditation on the very assumptions that come into play with the words real story. Part autobiogrphy, part tralogue, From the Age of Lightheartedness begins with an anecdote about a woman named Luise. In voice-over, a man (presumably Wyborny) recalls how Luise offered to pay for a trip to Egypt if he would screw her on top of the pyramids. He agrees (he’s looking for human connection, or so he says), but their plans are routinely frustrated: At one pyramid there are too many visitors, at another they are foiled by a guard. Other stories follow – the narrator recalls one summer peeking up his aunts skirt, along with a grim zipless fuck – accompanied by a series of blurred, tinted, frequently ambiguous and fleeting images of trees, ruins, city streets, harbors, an occasional woman, the sea. The images don’t neccessarily align with the narration, which is to Wyborny’s point. Memory has its own exquisite logic – why shouldn’t film? "I’m not sad," explains the narrator, "because my longing has grown more perfect." And in longing begin stories – perfect and not. - Manohla Dargis, Los Angeles Weekly, 1997