Imagine the vibrant clash: the untamed greens of the Congo, abruptly giving way to the stark, almost sterile, greys and pastels of 80s Milan. The camera often feels intrusive, almost a documentary lens on Bingo Bongo's raw, uninhibited physicality, contrasting sharply with the stiff, almost robotic pacing of urban life around him. There's a curious visual language at play, a vibrant absurdity, where every wide shot of the city feels like a cage, and every close-up of Laura's face holds a quiet hope, a warmth that slowly thaws the film's initial cool, anthropological detachment, promising something truly unique.
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