But while the story of Morozov serves as a starting point of the narrative, the film systematically twists and trivializes the depicted events as to perpetuate the dominant principles of this period of Soviet life. Pakalnina is both honoring and criticizing of this particular form of cinema. The most implausible events are visualized through Wojciech Staron's monochrome-camera to emphasize primitivism and ideas that are already present in the narrative both in image and sound. The staged feeling of appearances comes across heavily and is emphasized through the kaleidoscopic editing of disjointed images. Pakalnina's way to visually match shots in some sequences suggests their geological continuity, but the narrative framework appears to be so cryptic that it prevents attempts to establish closed interpretations. Instead, Pakalnina's method is to reform and duplicate narrative references, thereby creating an audiovisual palimpsest, in which motion and emotion are connected through the same camera choreography.
The narrative favors the disconnection from reality, yet the black-and-white material of the film in turn focuses on the attention, expressions and general behavior of the depicted persons. The Eisensteinian montage, formerly used to depict the struggle of the proletariat, now shows the proletariat as mocking that which seeks to uphold him, through more languid and disconnected imagery. Rather than fast, intercut images, Pakalnina instead shifts to long takes, surveying the landscape and the humans within. Everything becomes grand and monstrous—the camera, the land, and most especially, the people.
Pakalnina's pictorialism turns cinematic conventions into moments with a sense of duration inside her planned sequences. This becomes a modality connected with the viewer's attention and perception of the scenes. Consequently, time comes to be understood inside the images—the idea of duration as the registering of time is crucial here. On a narrative level, Pakalnina's images move and flow into each other, while the compositional hierarchy between them does not change very much. There is an internal tension in the structure of the images that holds them together and produces a unified vision controlled by the cineaste. There is also a specific affection in looking at these images.
Pakalnina seems to be studying the precise laws and specific effects of the Soviet mythology in a certain geographical environment, which is, this time, Latvian—whether consciously organized or not—on the emotions and behavior of individuals on the farm. This creates a form of Soviet-Latvian psycho-geography, which can be applied to the findings of an investigation that relies heavily on the performance of the masses, and their influence on human feelings. Pakalnina addresses her spectacle through a combination of an observational mise-en-scène with a performative presence of both camera and the actors.