n antidote as much as a film, Gastón Solnicki’s is a time(less) capsule that offers refuge from the onslaught of a reality that is becoming increasingly catastrophic, at least for those who have been lucky enough to reside far from the violent vortex of history. What was until very recently relegated to the safe and spectacular distance of the big screen is now getting uncomfortably closer to the comfortable lives of those who would have never thought to endure, in their lifetimes at least, pandemics, war, and misery. Solnicki’s film is not so much an antidote to this new, creeping reality, but to the loss of sensitivity upon which it is premised. This sensitivity is aesthetically rescued at the very beginning of the film, when a neon-lit shop window steals the does not recognize as its own and dissipates in 80 precious, expansive minutes.
