One of the most interesting aspects of Dead Language remains the characterization of Aya, a character that is seemingly at crossroads as far as her life is concerned. While it is implied that she was once happily married to Aviad (Yehezkel Lazarov), the growing distance between the couple as seen through the gaze of Aya cannot be denied. In a scene, you see her entering her home while having little to interact or share with her husband, even as the latter is seemingly busy in research articles and writing a novel of his along with attending conferences. This remains a sharp contrast to Aviad, who feels his life is perfect while seemingly remembering the smallest of details with respect to items present in Aya’s purse, when the couple are out on a dinner double-date with their friends. The contrasting strands of a modern day relationship are nicely highlighted here.

The drama in many ways, remains a character study unfolding through the point of view of Aya, who is also shown to be stuck in her professional life. Age is slowly catching up to her, an aspect that you understand in a scene wherein she declines the idea of accompanying a much younger colleague to a night-club initially. The lack of spice coupled with a growing distance with her husband, is seemingly countered by a pleasant whiff of fate when she meets Mr Esben for the first time. Afterall, it isn’t entirely off the radar to find ‘love’ in another person after years of marriage. But the initial hesitation and moral dilemma for Aya is evident given that her husband Aviad isn’t necessarily a bad person – he isn’t an abuser, nor a narcissist as the characters in his book, while only being busy in his work. But here is where the writing blossoms into an absurdist territory, implying that Aya isn’t in love with Mr Esben specifically speaking, but instead in love with the idea of love.

The contrasting settings here play a vital role in the drama – the four walls of Aya’s home is a familiar yet stale setting that lacks the spice for Aya. In contrast, the setting of a hotel room with a stranger(s) is just the spice and thrill that makes Aya feel young again, while giving her an opportunity to re-explore her adventurous trait. And there is a sense of intimacy involved (not necessarily physical), when you see Aya exchanging conversations with Mr Esben about betting in a horse-race. In another scene, you see Aya enacting s*xual innundoes based on the fantasy of a stranger after directly walking unannounced in his room. All of this, while Aya’s marriage further begins to deteriorate even as she declines an offer from her husband to engage in intercourse at a hotel room (after spotting her hotel-room key that Aya hasn’t returned).

The final act of the drama is quite absurdist even in terms of its tonality, that seemingly shifts from a gripping character study to the whereabouts of a character that suddenly goes missing in the drama. There is a sense of tension even as you notice Aya springing from one part of the world to another in search of ‘that’ person, only to eventually spot him and find out that the identity of the same character is different. This for me is an ending that will divide the viewers but if I were to think of it with regards to its theme, then it almost felt like a perfect fairytale ending for Aya who finally finds ‘spice’ in her life through the changed ‘identity’ of another character. The tease is definitely in play, even as you notice a sense of hope and intimacy brewing in the form of a dance that the couple engages in. It sure was a brave ending in a screenplay that definitely pushed the boundaries of absurdism.