Bokma gives a fine portrayal of an individual hardening towards ingratitude, enjoying all the perks of a white man in Africa while remaining wholly oblivious to the workers in his rear-view mirror. In the meantime, our eyes are allowed to grow used to the dark: we squint, peer harder, and become better, more patient viewers for it. Are the two doctors representative of an alliance, some growing detente between these continents? Or is the sickness too great, and will the film tear apart once more? Kohler keeps us guessing right through to the concluding night hunt, where the presence of rifles is hardly a reassurance - we're left hanging, much as Europe is implicitly accused of leaving Africa hanging for centuries. It is, nevertheless, a credible limbo: eerie, and free from exoticism or sentiment, and climaxing in an extraordinary final image (and a weirdly apposite final soundtrack choice). Literary in the best possible sense, this is a calm, focused, truly Conradian piece of storytelling.