In a film of countless beautifully calibrated scenes the one at the very end struck me particularly. As a small family’s caravan is leaving their rural outpost of a home for the city, it crosses paths with a pick-up truck broadcasting a political message. The young man, his wife and two very small children travel in a horse-drawn cart accompanied by a large, slow-moving cloud of sheep. The sheep block the truck’s path — which in the context of the film has a vaguely officious and malevolent presence — but only briefly, before its on its way, unimpeded by this ordinary family from the Mongolian plains. A film so slow it lulled me to sleep, it’s also a quietly charismatic piece about people unfamiliar with plastic kitchen utensils or runoff elections and children reluctant to accept that a stray dog is the opposite of a priority for a man whose way of life is evaporating.