The last movie I saw at the film festival was about a road accident. A bicyclist gets thrown off the road by a car avoiding another car at a narrow stretch. He dies in a nearby hospital the next day. The rest of the movie recounts the six months before the accident from the vantage point of several key protagonists. Various encounters between them are shown over and over again but in different contexts. The movie ends with a brief account of the accident from the vantage point of the law. The bicyclist’s family is compensated in terms of his remaining life earnings and the like, whence the title of the movie. But my main concern throughout the movie was about its cost from my own point of view. I could not care less about the bicyclist or any of the protagonists. As far as I was concerned, they could all die as soon as possible. I focused on my own suffering, for I could not escape from where I was sitting in the upper square in Motovun. An innocent victim of the last festival day, I was stuck right in the middle of the packed square. Wherever I looked, there were too many people sitting around me to squeeze by. As I was praying for the movie to end at last, I promised myself not to get in the same situation ever again. If I ever go to the movies again, I will be sitting next to an exit. Few movies are of any interest to me, anyhow. In human capital terms, I could be reading something that really occupied my interests or writing something I truly cared about instead. To my chagrin, I will never be compensated for my suffering last night. The film festival be damned.