The mayor of Zemplinské drives a bright yellow sports car. When he goes to work he always parks his car in the same position, lighting up the otherwise pretty gloomy stage of his little village like a spotlight. The car, like the communal loudspeakers left over from the socialist era and the aggressively patterned dresses his secretary wears, are the main props in the ex-army general’s battle against the inevitable: the gradual extinction of the village as a result of an aging population and people moving elsewhere. The mayor boldly sets out to cajole the marriage-wary generation of singles in their 30s to put in punctual appearances at his rigorously organized ballroom dances. He makes no bones about the goal of his bizarre investments in the future of Zemplinské. With a finely-tuned feeling for the eccentricities of rural life, Erika Hníková observes life in the village over an extended period of time, gradually developing a deep empathy for its citizens’ passive resistance to demographic terrorism. Her perspective on the houses of the region seems to suggest that for example the extravagantly designed facades, and even more so the truly daring interior décor, could also have something to do with the individual’s efforts at self-defense.