A film full of life and lives, lived and not lived.
That of Jonathan and his mother, those of her parents.
Interweavings and fragments of two existences - that of him and that of his mother - which mix in a hysterical and desperate dance. These pieces more than twenty years long which, put together, return a life that has died many times, and each time capable of returning, in some way, with more and more scars, to the light.
That ending, that caress, that closeness.
Maybe it's exactly like this: there is hope.
And the climb towards heaven has just begun.

Some scenes touched me very much. How much pain there is in Tarnation. When her mother, now completely lost to herself, sings and smiles with the pumpkin in her hand, she reaches the height of desperation. How can one witness the spectacle of one's mother's absence? Aware of the devastation that she has suffered, which has stripped her of her identity - as well as of the abyss that has accompanied your life from the moment it began. Those endless minutes really affected me. And then, of course, him, the son of this woman whose heart was chewed up by everyone and spat out. A film that is not a film, rather an embroidery of moments, mostly sadly desperate, in the attempt to assign a name to the past, to heal the disorder of the days, to rebuild once again what has collapsed a thousand times.

It reminded me, at times, of the monumental Dear Zachary. The comparison is certainly exaggerated, because Dear Zachary is immense, but Tarnation is in some ways a long letter from a son to his mother. A will. A trace, a clue, a psychoanalysis session, a way to look at yourself in the mirror and not burst into tears.