L'homme qui fume

Two stories about different ways two people overcome loss; which may or may not be connected.

Marcos, an independent film and video editor, works editing late into the night. On a typical night at work, he has a seizure that causes him to lose consciousness. Upon waking up, he discovers that his way of perceiving life has changed in such a way that he now lives everything and sees it in the same way as a cinematographic montage.

What happens to places when they lose their people? Where do all the stories go?

Alejandra is a rock star, a great actress, a literary prodigy. Alejandra is everything but herself.

Bruno, a misunderstood teenager, has developed an obsession with burning objects, recording them, and uploading videos to the internet to deal with his father’s death. When his lonely mother starts dating another man, Bruno escapes from home. He goes to another town to live with Daniela, a young pyromaniac he met online and with whom he has an epistolary relationship. During the painful separation from his mother and his best friend Ian, he begins to question his sexuality and capacity to overcome his father’s loss.

A young woman and a young man—lifelong friends—reflect on love through someone else's story, without realizing that love might be closer than they think.

First part of "La trilogía de las frutas" and the first short film belonging to the "Manifiesto Helsinki" film movement.

Distrito Federal, 1973. In a seedy pool hall, the destiny between Gaspar, a young man thriving to his death, intertwines with the destiny of Bibiana, a wealthy girl with curiosity for the underworld.

The story follows Julio and María, exploring the importance of the present and our loved ones. Through a promise Julio makes to María, the plot delves into how this commitment leads Julio to discover more about his own emotions and the value of living in the moment.

Can an adolescent experience define our perception of love? Can or should everything be connected or have a reason? A character recounts to his niece or nephew, in the form of a confession, an event from his adolescence that defines his particular way of perceiving love. While this exercise serves to tell a story that, regardless of genre, has surely been experienced by more than one person, it expresses the director's idea that discourse can sustain a work on its own, even if what is depicted on screen appears to have no connection.