The silent drama of life and death has rarely been treated in such a stylistically consistent way as in the unmistakably Nordic 'After You' - and it hits you with all the more force that the film's director has far more personal matters at stake in his film than the bright and crystal clear images at first suggest. The afternoon sun bathes an empty room in a golden glow while smoke formations from an extinguished candle form patterns in the air. In meticulously accurate sequences, we tacitly observe everyday routines. Telephone calls, dishes being washed, TV, cutlery on plates, the trees rustling in the wind outside the window. The sounds of everyday life, only interrupted by thoughtful silence. We are in the home of the family, where Marius Dybwad-Brandrud's mother spends all her time together with her dying father, and where Marius spends all his time together with his mother. In the delicate balance between distance and proximity, and between the director's double role as grandchild and detached observer, an unequalled, strong tension is created between feeling and aesthetics. But in spite of its acceptance of death as a natural part of life, 'After You' is also a reminder to enjoy life and one another as long as it lasts.