Cristobal Lopez Baena

Year 1866. Venancio, a young gaucho, embarks on a journey to escape from a curse through a war-torn region desperately seeking salvation among rustlers, priests, shamans and deserters. The stronger his fear is, the more real the legend becomes.

Those who rebel against authority figures disobey. This film echoes “Cordobazo” — a popular rebellion in Cordoba against the Argentine military dictatorship in 1969 — through the story of Alicia, a trolleybus driver who joins an insurrection against an oppressive regime.

No synopsis available yet.

Set in the Misiones region, the story follows Maxi, a young man whose quiet life is disrupted by the arrival of the soccer business. The film explores deep themes such as identity, homophobia, and toxic masculinity within the world of soccer.

A gardener becomes confused about his sexuality after coming across a group of gay guys partying at a house where he works.

Alba is away on a trip while, in her hometown, a friend of hers dies. Her travel companions cannot seem to grasp what happened and, without being able to go back home, Alba is forced to go through mourning alone, even though she’s surrounded by people.

Camila is going through a crisis in her 30s. Everything in her life seems to be falling apart: growing up proves more difficult than she expected. Julian, her best friend, suggests she resume her major and work in a play. Together, they will live a memorable summer.

This is not about actors, nor about a theater in ashes, nor about a play without an audience, nor about a ghost actress, nor about the outline of a dead man, nor about a theater with a life of its own, nor about an actor who is also an actress, nor about a fake phone call, nor about a house with four walls that turns, nor about a psychotic clown, nor about one, two, three, four NN bodies tied up without choice, much less about a certain theater, with a certain fire, with a certain collapse, with a certain 2007 scratched in the mind of a certain ghost actress, of a certain faggot and of a certain clown, nor about the revelation of their secret that neither you, nor I, nor they know if it was like that or not.

This is not about actors, nor about a theater in ashes, nor about a play without an audience, nor about a ghost actress, nor about the outline of a dead man, nor about a theater with a life of its own, nor about an actor who is also an actress, nor about a fake phone call, nor about a house with four walls that turns, nor about a psychotic clown, nor about one, two, three, four NN bodies tied up without choice, much less about a certain theater, with a certain fire, with a certain collapse, with a certain 2007 scratched in the mind of a certain ghost actress, of a certain faggot and of a certain clown, nor about the revelation of their secret that neither you, nor I, nor they know if it was like that or not.