A herd of cows is slowly moving along. A grandfather is putting the community's fear of the infamous Bayraktar drones  into words. A hulking car is circling the foothills of the mountains, across the hostile plains of the Caucasus. Filmmaker Daniel Kötter is working his way through the tangled threads of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. And he is doing it by cultivating a game of distances that is what makes cinema worth it: here, in close proximity, sitting with the locals at the same table, hidden in the corners of their apartments ; there, at a remove, lost in the vastness of the steppe. Evoking the films of one certain Abbas Kiarostami, Landshaft knows that it's all about the angle you look from – and that the camera lens is capable to both reveal in a provocative manner and to disorient us decidedly. After all, by intervening obliquely in the midst of a political and military conflict, Kötter is primarily on the side of the people caught in the middle: those we rarely listen to. But there's more to it than that: for, as the title may infer, in its interest for almost monumental shots of the surroundings, filmed over and over again, always the very same and still so different as they bend to the whims of the weather, Kötter’s film aspires to reveal an intimate poetics of the landscape. (Victor Morozov)