Shot in black-and-white, it’s a powerful statement. Like Torabi, Millar makes full use of her landscape, this time the spectacular Burren region of the west coast of Ireland. With a cast of 10 dancers, singers and a community choir of 40, the whole film embodies her exploration of the subject.

The community of performers are always moving on. As Navigation progresses from the cracked pavement of glacial-era limestone (overhead shots make the patterns on the rock look like something created by an ancient civilisation), through tracks and lanes, the repeated rhythms of the music and vocals are superbly echoed in the gesture-driven choreography that is precise and surprisingly full of emotion. It ends on a beach, and with shots of dark cliffs and grey waves. The message needs no elucidation.

The opening of Green Dawn by Fu Le promises much. The mood is dark. There’s a strong surreal air and a suggestion that something is going to happen. People peer into and out of caravans. A door opens and a woman fall out. I found it impossible not to hark back to Peeping Tom’s 32 Rue Vandenbranden. The film is that good. Unfortunately, that mood doesn’t last, and the rest of the film is far from enticing. There’s a lot of holding hands and running like ten-year old children, except they are obviously not. And as for the “mysterious green dawn” of synopsis, well, there is a green mist, but mysterious or scary it most definitely is not.