Abimael Ouedraogo

Between parties and dips in the river, Lou abandons herself over the summer, navigating through her reconstituted community.

A black screen. A bottle breaks on the bitumen. A few insults are flung. The decor of an industrial area, first thing in the morning, after a busy night. Three friends “find” a vehicle and climb in for a journey with no clear aim. Except for one of them, troubled by the guilt of having cheated on Alba, who is arriving the next evening. Someone told him about a cross, painted on a cliff over the Genevan countryside, which is supposed to reconcile those who reach it with their innermost selves. Beyond a mystic, post-drinking delirium, the strapping lad believes that the climb to the summit will help him find the courage to talk to his girlfriend.

A permission, an eternal return, it is in this suspended context, out of space and time, that the gathering of three young men happens, under the bright and suffocating lights of the bank district and the luxury boutiques of the city of Geneva, a symbol of a cold and radical social cleavage. Between masculinity, violence and ethic, everything seems to be made in order for the friends to deconstruct the universe, alone, at the top of the world.