Windmills (Tenet)

Something almost hypnotic opens this — a held tone, almost drone-like, over which rhythmic figures begin accumulating. Göransson here finds a strange middle ground between organic and mechanical, where strings behave like percussion and percussion behaves like breath. The title's imagery translates into circular motion: phrases that revolve rather than progress, creating a kind of temporal vertigo that perfectly captures the film's obsessions. There's an Eastern European folk suggestion buried in the harmony, a tinge of something pre-industrial underneath the sleek electronic production, as if past and present are genuinely occupying the same frequency band. The emotional register is liminal — neither tense nor resolved, hovering in a state of perpetual anticipation. It's ideal for long drives through landscapes that seem to repeat themselves, or for late-night work sessions when time starts losing its grip.