The characters flicker like candles in the night. Tears like wax melting into the ocean. Wraiths disappearing into the vast blackness that separates each from each. Their white attire reflecting the moon's dim light, while their eyes lay open deep fears of isolation.
The jilted man attacks the camera as if it were an unwelcome voyeur, but his violence implies he has more to hide. Petrol sing of the little things that go unspoken between lovers - and the way they build into crashing waves of anger and resentment. The three involved here are on the precipice of a sea change, and they can feel it in the all-consuming darkness of the beach.
Yet exactly how many are present on this night? There are apparently two men wrestling in the dust, a pained woman who is of concern to both, the outed cameraman (the viewer?) and then Petrol themselves - impressively jamming without the assistance of lights or electricity of any kind. But then there is the beguiling similarity in appearance of the two dueling men (we never clearly see their faces together in a single shot), the way one's head expands to suggest a psychological struggle and a final pan to the right where it appears the man is seeing everything from a distant view - all of which actually intimates only one soul wanders these shores at midnight.
This may very well be a lonely man watching his love fall apart at the hands of his own indecision and hysteria, but it's precisely the mystery of the narrative which keeps "Cera" such a compelling treat. There is a shot of the women running across darkness as if upon water, subtle effects distort the visuals on close-ups and throughout cuts are hidden in the same black where secrets are kept. The directors create a mood that is as disquieting as it is hypnotically beautiful. An enigma that wants no solution - only to evoke and entice feeling.