La Haine

La Haine ★★★½

When the clock strikes its final minute, the world will shut down. The screen will cut. The curtain will close. Russian roulette played by the walls, the stone and cement sweating the blood and teeth from its cracks. Bullets ring out from the brightest light as they fly forever into an unknown distance where the powder on its trails disappears into the void. Where welfare has it complications, it is delicate and fragile, shells of a revolution past and the revolution now. You can die in bed or die on the street, like a person or like cattle. But you cannot leave.

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