This is a film about Tuesday. Not a journey. Not a transformation. Just a single unremarkable day — from alarm to bed, with all the nothing in between.
I wanted to make something that resists the lie of the highlight reel. We wake up, we wait for kettles, we stand in supermarket aisles, we scroll without purpose. These moments are not transitions between the important parts. They are most of life. I wanted to show them without apology.
The camera approach is simple: handheld for private moments, static for public spaces. The world outside is fixed and indifferent. Her interior life has a witness — someone present, breathing, noticing.
There is no score. Music tells you how to feel. I wanted the film to trust silence instead. Room tone, distant city sounds, a pen on paper. The ordinary doesn't need elevation.
The journaling at the end is not a resolution. It's not a ritual or a practice. It's just something she does — one line written, then the pen stops. That is enough.
If this film works, the viewer recognizes themselves in the vacancy of the morning bathroom, the mindless couch scroll, the pause in the hallway before deciding what to do next. Not inspired. Not moved. Just seen.
