the moment love is lost
by Douglas Messerli
Stanley Dunmore (screenwriter and
director) Sunset Lullaby / 2024 [14 minutes]
Two beautiful young men, Adam (Felix
Edwaards) and Noah (Matteo Piombino) drive into a field of tall grasses and
flowers, presumably to picnic and spend the afternoon making love. But we
realize from the beginning, through their silences and inexplicable short
outbursts that something is wrong.
As they lay, almost in paradisical splendor among the tall flowers and
weeds, we begin to perceive their problems. The time is a bit further into the
future, 2066 in this sci-fi love tale, and by this time androids and human
beings have naturally come to cohabit, in this case representing almost perfect
couples such as Adam (the human being) and Noah (the android), living together
and fully enjoying one another’s company.
But there is a catch, as there generally is in all sci-fi fictions.
Every 25 years, the androids undergo a systematic reprogramming that
automatically erases all of their memories; and this is about to happen on this
auspicious day, Adam terrified by the prospect, and Noah attempting for at
least the last few hours of his cognizant reality to not be reminded of what he
has known will happen all his life.
This couple attempt to play together for a while; they simply attempt to
enjoy the last moments of their time together, Noah arguing that there are
always fragments of memory left, and that surely he will not be able to forget
all of their beautiful times together. Adam takes photographs of his lover,
surely the only reminders of a lost relationship, those pictures we are carry
somewhere on our computers or in our wallets.
The story thus becomes a kind of parable for losing any lover, to death
or—although this short British film does not bring up this issue—when one lover
loses the other to a disease such as
Alzheimer’s or even AIDS, where
death came sometimes quickly stealing away all the time the two had invested in
one another’s loving.
As the sunset begins to invade their spectacular afternoon, Noah begs
his friend to sing him a lullaby about the sunset, trying his best to recall
the tune, but unable suddenly to remember it, and falling in frustration into
the other’s arms.
When he awakens, surely, he will not probably even understand why he is
in the other’s arms, and may even be shocked by the encounter. Who knows, in
his new reincarnation, whether or not he will even be gay? This film does not,
fortunately, take us there, but leaves the two in their desperate last moments,
both attempting to recall the love they shared. But then, can any of us
remember all the love we shared with another? I have lived with the same man
for now 56 years, and my memory is still strong; but even I can’t remember our
early passions, the full reasons why we were so suddenly drawn together and
determined to live our lives with one another. No matter how great our memories
are, we cannot relive our youths, out passions, our fears, our desires.
We are all, in some manner, reprogrammed, focused now on our elderly
lives leading to our graves. Love may still be there, but it is not the same as
our youthful visions and perceptions of the future. As the greatest of composers,
writers, dancers, and artists have always perceived: love is always transitory.
Los Angeles, August 17, 2026
Reprinted from My Queer Cinema (August
2026).
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