The hum of a refrigerator, the distant drone of a neighbor’s lawnmower, the tinny bleeping of a vintage Gameboy, the rhythmic creak of trampoline springs in action. Secondary noise fills scene after scene in “Blue Heron,” a film one might otherwise think to describe as quiet. The dialogue, much of it pained and pointed, sticks too. But Sophy Romvari‘s graceful, singularly heartsore debut feature has a sharp understanding of how memories form and age: Often it’s the incidental, ambient details you recall as vividly as the more significant events at hand.
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That understanding is vital to a film built from Romvari’s memories
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