In the vast spectrum of contemporary audiovisual narrative, this cinematographic work is presented as an exercise in visual dialectics that, without being disruptive in its essence, attempts to articulate a poetics of emptiness that, paradoxically, is filled with meanings as subtle as ellipses in a Bergman script. There is a kind of ontology in each frame, a desperate – perhaps unnecessary – search for the sublime in the everyday, which at times feels more like a pastiche than an aesthetic statement. The director, in his eagerness to subvert the conventions of the genre – if such a thing exists in a post-Tarantino world – immerses us in a rhythmic cadence that, although disconcerting, aims to dialogue with the viewer in an almost hermetic language, a kind of cryptic cinematic Esperanto. The characters, despite their palpable artifice, try to embody archetypes that, because they are so universal, are diluted in an ocean of clichés carefully constructed to seem innovative. The photography, which some would consider minimalist, others might describe as an allegory for the obsolescence of the soul in the digital age, flirts dangerously with the pretentious. And the music, ah, the music, that kind of sound accompaniment that seems to have been taken from a dusty trunk full of forgotten scores, becomes, at times, the protagonist