In Russia, an introverted father and his teenage daughter live on the road in a van that contains their entire life, including the equipment for a travelling cinema: the source of their meager income. Povolotsky builds on the undeniable art of the long take, on both the scale of the imposing landscapes and the tight interior of their cramped vehicle. The nameless father and daughter rove around the extremities of their vast country, from south to north. On its margins, the pulse of independent drifters who endure and resist.
The governor asks his wife to stage this beloved folk ballet, which should be good PR for his upcoming elections. But it turns out that Swan Lake is also a ballet about two worlds. Trying to fulfill her husband's order, the governor's wife breaks out of the boundaries of the estate, regulated by the world of reconstructions. In the city, she encounters "ordinary people" unknown to her, sleeping swans.