Based on the short story by Nikolai Gogol, this blackly comic fairytale is about a lonely social outcast who, in an effort to raise his status at work, spends all his money on a new overcoat, which seemingly gives him the approval he craves. But when it's stolen from him, he cannot return to his previous life of anonymity, leading to a downward spiral from which there is no return.
1654, Ottoman Empire, Greece. A Turkish Warrior arrives heavily wounded at a remote Christian female monastery and is nursed by Anthi, a young nun under the oath of silence. They fall in love against all odds. But Anthi is tormented by a dark secret. The two lovers escape in the nearby forest, where Anthi's secret is revealed.
Sofia and Eleni and Petros and Alexandros and Despina and Daphne. Familiar, people-next-door types with their obsessions, weaknesses, hang-ups. People who make the daily rounds in search of communication. Sofia, fragile and with no defenses, searches for the scent of life. Eleni tries to combine career and child, making the mistakes she blames her mother Despina for making. Alexandros, a full-fledged adolescent strives to be loved. Petros goes after lost relationships. Characters and the absences of characters. Relationships that are articulated and disarticulated. Through tender glances and open wounds. With an invitation open to all as an antidote. One that we have extended dozens of times while we wait and hope. So... let's go for an ouzo.
Athens, today. Three siblings face the prospect of selling their family home. The potential buyers will tear it down and erect a modern building in its place.
Centres on two brothers, Stelios and Yannis. The impulsive Stelios skips their small town, deserts from the army, and is thought dead, until Yannis, now a city cop, recognizes his name on the papers of an illegal immigrant seaman. He begins a search for his lost brother, a search that takes him across many borders: between past and present, between Greece and its neighbouring countries, between one identity and another.
