Woodpecker

A man works in a small convenience store in a busy city. He engages with people that come into the shop to buy things, often he has to tell them the bad news that he does not have a certain product, but he will let them know another shop where they can get it. This is the place that he works. This is his city, his life.

This short film presents the busy nature of an urban dwelling. All of the young and old faces weathered by reflections in the passing car windows. Aged hands holding cigarettes against old brick walls. People stopping and talking in the street, laughing and mingling as crowds flow past, all life halting to a stop at the end of desperate days at the feet of busy streets. The sounds of a busy street rests in the audio, perhaps there is no need for dialog, as the sourced sounds simply assist the images, never changing them or driving some irrelevant plot. The nature of Rouzbeh Rashidi's "Woodpecker" is completely audio-visual.

The film turns a point and returns to the man earlier, the cashier from the convenience store. His hair. His fingers. His mouth. His beard. His shirt. His eyes. His glasses. Suddenly the analysis of the busy city is replaced with shots of similar observation, but of that particular man. His name is Farzad. After seeing what makes his purpose, his existence in the outside world, we are then granted the privilege of seeing into his personal world. Through images of photographs, friends and acquaintances, the idea of this man (existing is this world) is brought into light.

The film ends at night. The sound of trains in the dark. The mechanical turning of everything, the mechanical and sterile nature of the world. The man sleeps on a cold floor. Darkness. This man clearly shouldn't be here; this existence will be his end. Daylight. Farzad is back at the convenience store, helping people, selling products, giving directions, talking. The sounds of the city. Repetition. What a shame; continuation and repetition in life.