Summary
A Copenhagen clockmaker’s apprentice, perpetually late, sabotages the city’s public timepieces, believing their tyrannical ticking steals the laughter from children’s throats; when the gears finally seize, the streets bloom into a carnival of slow-motion anarchy where barbers shave shadows, lovers waltz across tram-cables, and the harbour’s mermaids auction off minutes like hot chestnuts. Oscar Stribolt’s lanky silhouette ricochets through this temporal revolt, his face a silent aria of panic and wonder, while Carl Schenstrøm’s portly sergeant—half bloodhound, half baroque cherub—pursues him with a pocket-watch the size of a moon. The film ends at dawn: every clock face cracked, every citizen drunk on stolen eternity, the apprentice tiptoeing across the minute-hand of the city hall tower to reset the heart of the world with a single breath.
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