Slow

Slow maps out desires and dreams through minute glances, gestures, and silences. Watching it feels like falling in love.

The lack of subplots and supporting characters eventually becomes limiting but there are great performances, and you’ll admire Kavtaradze’s easygoing shooting style.

What keeps Slow buoyant is the rapport between its very convincing leads — the wry, saturnine Cicėnas and Grinevičiūtė, who exudes humour and no-nonsense sensuality.

With strong performances by Grinevičiūtė and Cicėnas, Elena and Dovydas’s relationship unfolds at a gentle, unhurried pace, their growing attraction indicated by small details that reward attentive viewing.

I took the film not as any sort of design for living, or facile explanation of anything, but as a design for communicating — honestly, humanely, painfully, sometimes — for the good of whatever relationships yours happen to be.

[A} quietly affecting work, one of the more engaging romantic dramas to come along in a while.

Marija Kavtaradze has made an admirable romantic drama – slow-moving but tender. And its power comes from the way it portrays asexual relationships.

Slow is a welcome fresh and modern spin on the star-crossed lovers format, zooming in from some universal perspective on an extremely intimate story of two people whose romance shouldn’t be all that complicated.

Slow is a tender, crushing film about two people in love who struggle to make their relationship work. Elena and Dovydas are instantly smitten with each other but run into a roadblock when Dovydas clarifies that he’s asexual.

The dialogue is an engaging mix of emotional honesty and trivial musings and the leads are as charismatic as they are natural, while the handheld camerawork emphasises the film's sense of authenticity.