I Have No Mouth, Yet I Must Scream

After his mother falls ill, filmmaker Humberto González Bustillo flies back home to be by her side. Before his return, he remembers his childhood, and in turn recounts the colonial interests in Venezuelan lands, together with the continuous oil crisis.

Hera; a teenage girl blinded by rage, manages to convince her best friend; Clara, of smashing the windshield of a brand new SUV belonging to Emiliano, a corrupt military who lives in the same building as them, as a way of retaliation after watching a video online that shows him torturing young protesters.

In the midst of winter, a Venezuelan woman exiled in Brooklyn deals with daily work, a recurring appearance and unsettling messages from back home.

A machine-voice makes a "sad film of his homeland" for a dying patient to ease its passing: footage from Kennedy's visit to Venezuela in 61' creeps through montage errors, and a seemingly endless poem comes alive one last time.

A Venezuelan government official is sent to Switzerland to work on a project, strangely descending into sickness as unsettling events unfold back home.

A family painting triggers in the "The Young man" memories of his mother, the countryside, and his last lover, while doubt brings him closer to violence.

A Venezuelan city is emptying. A labor less priest struggles with a sonic sleep disorder while trying to safe-keep his meek buffalo from being taken. As the intentions of the remaining ones become more desperate, the priest’s malaise becomes more alive.

The director leaves his native country and adapts to new territories. Inside his work routine in a New York City restaurant, messages from his family come and go, shattered pieces of lost paradises.

A long-lasting lockdown. The last days of a grandmother. In between, a speculative film diary: a distant homeland, a grieving state possessed by light.