Borderline

A father who has just been released from prison strives to reconnect with his son. Good intentions are hindered by unexpected obstacles. An unforgettable day spent by the two together might turn into the very last day for one of them.

Folded, rewritten, thrown away, wrinkled, crossed out, stuffed in a pocket, handed to the book keeper, only to find out later that it was the wrong one; then written down, torn out, worn out, sometimes crumpled up, with morning coffee stains. The film’s protagonist walks around the pulp mill with jagged movements, performing his duties. “I doubt we’ll meet again. I really do,” he repeats to himself, addressing the void.