Two hundred and eighty billion images

It's a summer day in 1983 in Mar del Plata. A group of men and women walk slowly through the grasslands beside the train tracks, forming the Agrupación Crotos Libres (Free Hobos). With anarchist roots, the hobos advocate a life without a fixed abode, free from material attachments, in defense of leisure and working-class solidarity. Since then, their "non-profit" walks have been their main activity. Pedro, one of the last remaining hobos, recounts their history through his amateur VHS footage.

A man in a small boat reaches an island on the Paraná River. He heads towards a site where there used to be a house or small village. Now there is nothing. Slight signs of something old and lost: the place where he was born. His presence allows the things in the abandoned spot to materialize: huts and tables, animals and canoes. Soon others arrive on the island: his wife, father, friends, and children. This is a meeting of the Man and his loved ones. With the dead, the birds, the river's music and his pain.

Mónica did not make a client's payments of the office where she works. The missing 15K pesos not only commit her but also a colleague, who is the one who discovers the fault. It seems that is not the first time that this happens, but the colleague, despite his anger, kept silence and chose to believe her again: Mónica commits to replenish the sum of money the next morning.

The Luján River, the Basilica and an amusement park. Fabián, set designer and creator of horror labyrinths, builds the Ciclón Fantasma. Alejandro and Rosa walk along the riverbank looking for fossils. The characters seek to make their dreams come true in a space full of myths and beliefs.

La orilla que se Abisma is conceived as a journey, a trip along a river. Like rivers, like all journeys, the film has meanders, small riverbeds, detours and moments of rest.

The documentary follows a group of former sulfur workers from the town of Mina La Casualidad, in Salta, who were fired 40 years ago by the military dictatorship and who return to the place every year on the day of the Virgin.

Rafael Corral, a 90-year-old man, has spent much of his life in a film archive. As the building is transformed by construction work, Rafael searches for an object that connects him to his past as a ballet dancer for Spanish singer Miguel de Molina. The film explores memory through a building, a man and cinema, walking the corridors of an archive and observing the fragility of the material and the hands that preserve it.

In the house where several gererations used to live no one is living anymore At least apparently. Because if any one intensifies hearing and view, he can see He sees the footprints of formers inhabitants. He sees the marks of life and death in the deserted spaces He is the witness of the persistence of voices , bodies, ligths and shadows.

The poet Salvador Merlino didn’t live to see published April’s elegy, his last book, as he died when it was still in the printing press. His daughter Mary (72) and his son, Carlos (74), kept the parcels of copies of their father’s book stashed away for 50 years, high up, on top of a wardrobe. The curiosity of young Federico will force them to come face to face with themselves.

A man leaves the hospital. He sets out on a journey, perhaps a final one. Alongside the mystical landscapes drift the verses of Hospital Británico (1986), the last book by Héctor Viel Temperley. And the words of those who have been marked by reading it over the years.

In home-movies shot in the ‘90s by her father, the filmmaker discovers in these inherited images powerful fictions of the Argentinian middle class and the country’s recent history.

The property is put up for sale. Different people roam the house moved out of curiosity, others eager to buy. Irene's family specifies the sale. The house has new inhabitants that initiate the strange act of making the alien space their own. The rooms take on a new dimension and the house acquires a new identity far from the previous one. However, is it possible to erase the traces of the past?

Between two rains, a film that is offered as a newspaper. Rains. It is night. The rain coils like a snake in the street lanterns. A neighbor, old lady, knocks on my door. It's eleven at night. She is desperate, ask for rivotril. A few days later he dies. Someone leaves their house. Objects are loaded coldly in a truck. The death of a neighbor, a move, the skies laden with clouds, the light on things and faces, the operation of an old man, a night trip ... It rains. The trees shake and tremble underwater. Between two rains, a look at human fragility.

A man knocks on my door. I ask him what he needs. He doesn't answer. He looks at me for a few moments, with enormous eyes. He looks at me as one looks at an apparition. Rivers are born in that silence, in those hallucinated eyes, and they unfold a memory of water, a fragmented knowledge of tornadoes and banks, of creaking trees, of birds bathing in the rain, of men lost on some island, of drowning in the backwaters, of the splash of oars, of the shadow where the river narrows. A man knocks on my door. He says to me: You're not here, we're not here.

Atahualpa Yupanqui established himself as a key figure of Latin American identity through travel. Archives, music and personal records of a transhumance aimed at deciphering the dialogue between people and their territory.