The Agnes Varda of deep listening returns with another piece of intimate audio vérité, a two-CD headphone collage made from recordings of her mother’s final four months. Here, Rossetto’s mom tells stories, but they are fractured, overlapped, and rendered indecipherable — distorted like memory itself. Life is painted by snatches of conversations, radio, street musicians, TV commercials, music boxes, sirens, bingo games and, ultimately, the memorial service. When Rosetto starts crying, her mother responds with a perfect mix of loving, scolding, concern, and quotidian minutiae that could never be scripted: “Do you cry like this everyday? You need to see a doctor, to get some therapy, that’s what you need. And I need to make sure the back door is locked.”
