Carmen Rivoira

We are in the mid-nineties. Much of the western football world has to learn a new word: Qatar. There, in the middle of a mythological desert, a handful of boys from different countries and origins are going to play a Youth World Cup.

No synopsis available yet.

In a deckchair under a beach umbrella in the middle of a traffic island, Julia sits listening to the Cranberries’ ‘Zombie’ at full volume – simply existing, in a world that seems to take little notice of her as it keeps on turning. Even her brief nervous breakdown at the hairdresser’s merely ebbs away, like waves that gather only to dissipate again. Between a Russian Orthodox mass and the beach, a search for identity unfolds.

We are in the mid-nineties. Much of the western football world has to learn a new word: Qatar. There, in the middle of a mythological desert, a handful of boys from different countries and origins are going to play a Youth World Cup.

No synopsis available yet.

In a deckchair under a beach umbrella in the middle of a traffic island, Julia sits listening to the Cranberries’ ‘Zombie’ at full volume – simply existing, in a world that seems to take little notice of her as it keeps on turning. Even her brief nervous breakdown at the hairdresser’s merely ebbs away, like waves that gather only to dissipate again. Between a Russian Orthodox mass and the beach, a search for identity unfolds.