Valintatalo, Kotkan Ruusu / Hyvä tyttö

Cel animation on painted wallpaper, one bedroom, and no shop, no goods and no price anywhere in it. A woman with orange curls comes in and poses against the maroon floral paper in her slip, finger to her lip, waiting; her husband, bald with a heavy drooping moustache and hooded eyes, stays folded up in bed behind a newspaper drawn as rows of squiggles with small smudged pictures set into it, and never looks up. The drawing is deliberately unflattering, soft heavy bodies, blotchy cheeks, the lashes doing most of the acting, and the painted backgrounds are lit like a set, warm lamplight through the middle of the film and cold blue for the last shot. In that shot he is awake and alone with the space beside him empty, which is a plain sexual joke to run on television for a supermarket. There is no voice-over, only a song, and the one word spoken is the brand name; VALINTATALO supers over the closing bedroom in pale blue italics, leaving the connection between the film and the shop entirely to the viewer.