Joe Vasconcellos ★ To bad weather, good face

Set against the vibrant spectacle of the jaripeo, a symbol of Mexican cowboy tradition and machismo, this story unveils a hidden world of queer desire and quiet rebellion. As glances and gestures disrupt the rigid norms of masculinity, the rodeo becomes a stage for our protagonists to navigate identity, community, and the search for belonging in an oppressively traditional space.

Nando, a young horse wrangler in a rural Mexican village, has taken his own life following a disagreement with his father. Caballerango shows the boy’s family members and townspeople as they reckon with the new realities borne out of this inexplicable tragedy. Each account of Nando’s story reveals a different aspect of this rural town, which is deeply affected by modernization. The confrontation between the centuries-old ways of life and the modern-day world seems to be creating serious identity crises among the younger generation. The story is told in a patient, observational style with methodical shots of the landscape, ranches, and of the two white horses, whom Nando and his father tended to. Those horses, the last to see Nando alive, connect us to an ethereal sensation of almost otherworldly mystical beings.

Fifty-year-old Maria Garcia is the owner of the Dos Estaciones, a once-majestic tequila factory struggling to stay afloat, and the final hold-over from generations of Mexican-owned tequila plants in the highlands of Jalisco; the rest have folded to foreign corporations. Once one of the wealthiest people in town, Maria knows her current financial situation is untenable. When a persistent plague and an unexpected flood cause irreversible damage, she is forced to do everything she can to save her community's main source of economy and pride.

A weathered man is partially visible in a rear-view mirror as he relates getting mixed up with the wrong kind.

José’s son, Nando, has committed suicide and José repeatedly runs through the final words that he spoke to him.

A quietist exploration on the way fear shapes the contour of spaces, The Wait portrays at once the straits of immigrant life and the haunting soundscape of reprieve.