n his first feature, , David Easteal nestles his camera into the backseat of a Hyundai sedan belonging to Andrew (Andrew Rakowski), a lawyer in his late fifties. As he commutes home from a sleepy office park on the outskirts of Melbourne, he whizzes by suburban strip malls and inches through traffic jams, then merges onto the freeway alongside dozens of other drivers. All the while, the camera is aimed toward the windshield, which compartmentalizes the movement of the outside world into the top half of the screen. As proceeds to collage together fragments from a year of Andrew’s commutes, his car comes to function like a cocoon. At first, the vehicle seals him inside of a comforting routine, but above the drab buildings and roads—and occupying just a ribbon of Easteal’s frame—we see a volatile sliver of the sky, both tempting and threatening, depending on the
