What’s even more miraculous is that the director does nothing to stand in the way of this story and these characters, trusting the story to tell itself. This film is so beautifully quiet in sound and in action. There's no juvenile attempt to shock the audience, and Pryce allows the story's organic strength to capture the audience’s attention. I asked Pryce how difficult it was to merge the sound with the movements to bring such a quiet understatement. “It wasn’t easy for me to do,” she said, “to show restraint at every given moment. As a filmmaker, I certainly feel the pressure to ‘entertain’ as well. I think my crew often wondered at the relative quiet of my choices. To them, not a whole lot was going on outside the accident scene. I had to trust my vision…and it makes me appreciate the immense talent of the filmmakers I love. (She mentioned Kubrick and Bergman as being among those filmmakers.) “As far as the actor’s movements, there was a LOT of ‘even smaller’ being said. And there was no need to direct the girl in the church – a prime example of the importance of casting – she just had such a wonderful personality….” This is not to say that sounds do not play an important part in the film, but rather than being drowned by it, the film is refreshed. Pryce explains her decisions:
“The major sentiment that I felt about this man’s story was ambivalence. Not indifference, but the conflict of two diametrically opposed emotions. In terms of form – music, for example – I asked the composer to change the string element from a violin to a cello, to lend that melancholy, tentative, doubting sentiment. The violins imparted a feeling of spiritual peace that I personally struggle with. Another example would be with my use of sound. I had to create a psychological space, so I tried to use very rhythmic sounds… the murmur of the hushed voices in the church, the car’s running motor as he runs to the victim, the wind, the victim’s ‘whispering’ (which
