a film about the things we bury away in the earth told only in images that grow above it, an eliding via monumenting. there's so much rot perpetuating here—the disenfranchising of labor, the existence on settled stolen land, the shameful resource dyscrasia built into this history—all set against a photography that suggests a realizable and palpable heaven that it's easy to see the gold and then the ashes and read the film as a monument to obelisks themselves. whether they're divine or despair, it's tempting to turn Days of Heaven into a large heavy object in the name of. but this isn't a movie about coherence to The Fall or The Baptism or any prior parable structure. this is a movie about what happens when Linda talks and we don't see her mouth move, when she remains under the film's ground, speaking like a seed in time lapse. there is no grace, just the way we annotate life.