From its first images, Angela Schanelec’s very loose rendition of the Oedipus myth refuses a clear-cut relationship between its borrowed motifs—the central tangled relationships, the swollen feet, the transference of a child—and their place within the collection of experiences that this film so mystically embodies. Aside from perhaps a few glimpsed and overheard words, it is unclear until around the 30-minute mark that the film predominately takes place in Greece, and there is perhaps only one conversation in this largely dialogue-free film with real narrative import. Instead, what transpires is the development of an entire world with only a few characters, etching out how its central protagonist lives after an act of inexplicable violence and tracing, with a surprising lightness and care, the process of forgiveness and redemption. Its eponymous artform is on display throughout but bursts forth in an extraordinary extended coda, whose shockingly sincere performances create a sudden expansion in Schanelec’s rigorous framework. The film evokes a renewal that, rather than sweeping past pains under the rug, brings them to reflective, graceful light.