The film culminates in a scene that many of us have been confronted with. “The Trial”, a judgement of our transgressions and our frailties, our shortcomings and are fears. It’s a scene that’s as clean and methodical in execution as it is exacting in its blame. When you finally come to the conclusion that you’ve wasted your life on what-ifs and why-nots, you realise that all you needed to do was wield the axe that’s been piercing your heart for your entire life and break down the wall.
Every step in the right direction — every time a lover strokes your cheek, someone listens to you breathe, a tear drops from the blackness in your eyes — a piece of that wall crumbles. It’s forever suspended on a needlepoint, a thread of forced sanity that only serves to make you more vulnerable the more you try to sustain it. Pinky finally lets go of his emotions, lets go of the past, his demons spilling over in real time.
All the time he tried to blame his circumstances, and in a metaphorical show of retaliation, they blamed him right back. So the only thing left for him to do was break it down, take the mess out of being trapped in his own cacophony of fear and live his life in renewed sunshine.