A B-movie drafted in web format

1.nothing 2.the Ce 3.provides 4.included 5.Andres Ferron 6.20120103 7.year 8.covers 9.thousand 10.beginning 11.gen 12.kings 13.last 14.Russian 15.cattle 16.theme 17.milestone 18.deal 19.staging 20.March

I don’t know.

I don’t see myself as one of those Western ghosts.

I’ll show up at two in the morning and, if it happens, put on some kind of show.

I’ll need a useful structure.

* In 1971, The Anarchist Cookbook was published.

Un veu alguna cosa bella i no dóna crèdit als seus ulls.

"You see something beautiful and can’t believe your eyes. They tell you about… the natural beauty of xxxxxxxx… people bathing in xxxxx xxxxxxxx, among xxxxxxxx. You’ve actually already seen it in photos, but you still say you can’t believe it… even though, obviously, you do.

Exaggeration is a way of admiring xxxxxxxxxxx… You give your xxxxxxxxxxxx the chance to say: it’s true… And then you say: it’s incredible.

First you can’t believe it, and then you find it incredible."

Devoid of being, lacking any real presence.

Both explored sensory deprivation techniques, placing test subjects in soundproof environments with a uniform visual field, tracking brain activity, alpha rhythms, and the awakening of perceptual awareness in the observer.

The observer began to use corners and hidden spaces to anchor points and lines of light.

* In August 1997, Skynet achieved self-awareness.

Dressed in a white, transparent gauze down to her feet. Anyone else there would have evoked tar. Chin angled, long black hair. Illiterate.

You trembled before an animal thirsty for virility that no man was going to build.

Alpha rhythms originated in the occipital lobe during periods of relaxation, with the eyes closed and still awake. They diminished when the eyes were opened, with drowsiness, and during sleep. They were interpreted as a representation of the visual cortex’s activity in a resting state.

Wichita was still lost among the xxxxxx of xxxxxxxxx. She knew she wasn’t going to find her xxxxxxx xxxxxx. Beside herself, she took a Hillary Clinton mask out of her bag, put it on, and adjusted the strap. She rang the bell at the first door facing the street, and they let her in.

They had rented an old hotel, using it and opening up new gaps in the walls and ceilings. They controlled the light by opening and closing the blinds. They made shop signs, traffic lights, and car headlights part of it.

Wichita had begun to suffer from a disturbance in which she saw everyone without a face.

* On August 11, 1999, the Russian space station Mir came down over Paris.

Third letter, second of the consonants. Abbreviation of the word “circa,” which in Latin is used to refer to an approximate date, around.

Four and five.

I believe the police are working with the hypothesis that the attack may have been carried out by some kind of suicide terrorist. The café seemed crowded at the moment of the explosion. A photographer at the scene tells me: “A man ordered an orange juice, entered the café, and instantly I heard a loud explosion. I turned around and saw that the first and second floors were destroyed.”

No empathy. I don’t see them.

Everything reconnects for me like a primary illusion, a floating layer I will use to designate that generic function which is the world and its appearance. The world presented itself to me long before it acquired meaning, long before it was interpreted or represented, long before it became real.

The relationship that develops is perverse. Wichita becomes, both literally and metaphorically, the slave of the two of them. She insults them: “You have no brains.” They keep making her carry all their luggage: “You must remember who’s in charge here.” In the dark, they lock the room door so she can’t escape. Nevertheless, Wichita accepts her fate with relative submission. She is clearly afraid they will hand her over to the police, but there is another reason: at some point, she comes to believe it is a behavior she must accept.

Earlier, the viewer has learned that they have little time left to live and that they deserve to take revenge on Wichita.

The others, a young aspiring actress and a cloakroom attendant, have gradually regained their features.

His favorite dishes were delicious but unhealthy, such as chicken enchiladas, tacos, barbecue ribs, bacon cheeseburgers, lemon pie, peach pie, and steaks marinated in dressing, not to mention his fondness for boiled potatoes. He could eat five or six pork ribs at a time.

When they both arrived at the hotel, all the food became low-fat. The wine remained.

The couple’s dinners almost always consisted of vegetables and fish. This did not prevent him from later being cooked a steak with sauce and pieces of fried onion.

After obvious health problems, he changed his diet, becoming a strict vegetarian: fruits, vegetables, and legumes, eliminating meat or chicken and even dairy, occasionally allowing himself to eat some fish.

In the mornings, he takes vitamin supplements, almond milk mixed with fruit, and protein powder.

Sometimes superstitious, he believes that thanks to his vegetarian diet, the ice between them has melted.

Delivery with the obligation to return.

The screen signal fails.

Three dogs try to enter the café. A guy at the bar watches them when they bark and thinks about deworming them, turning them into steaks.

I look for something on my left arm. The animal watches me from hiding, closes the room without me noticing.

No tension. The muscles in my face relax and I change channels, seven times in two seconds. She steps out onto the terrace, admires the size of the pool, and how the aspiring actress, with her back turned, takes off the bottom of her bikini. They are aware of each other, although the animal seems truly restless.

I check the time.

It’s raining outside.

* In April 2012, the Avengers Initiative was set in motion. By 2023, its bubble had burst.

* In January 2020, pathogens from a bat in Wuhan triggered a global pandemic.

More than fifty titles over the course of a twelve-year career. Some have been true milestones, even if a few,like the recent “xx xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx x xx xxxxxxxx”, “xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx” and “xxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx xx xxxxxxxxxxx”, have fallen short of expectations. With or without an audience, she continues to feed the myth year after year.

Since her first film, “xxxxx xxxxxxxxxx xxxx”, a 45 minute opportunity offered by xxxxxx xxxxxx, xxxxx xxxxxxxxxx proved she was no conventional actress and why the industry would eventually claim her as its own. With six xxxxxxxxxxxx x xxx xxxxxxx xx xx xxxxxxxx, four xxxxxx xx xxx, and as many international awards and recognitions, she now, at 42, tops every list as the year’s best, more favored than ever.

Her role in “xxxxxxxxxx x” may finally earn her xx xxxxx, although she herself has admitted that ““it would only wrap me in my own vanity, making me almost unbearable.”.

- “xxxxxxxxxx x” almost didn’t get made. How did you keep your faith in the project amid all the rumors surrounding it?

What took the longest was finding a way to create something real within the world of xxxxxxxxxxxx. It’s not easy to enter that space with the consent of those who belong to it. All of us actors kept asking for more and more detail we weren’t satisfied with the surface of the script. That’s why so few films truly explore that territory. xxxxx xxxxxxxxx was interested in those where xxxxxxxxxxxx functioned both as context and as something properly portrayed. Breaking down those references and bringing them into practice on their own ground is what sparked the rumors. xxx xxxxxx, the screenwriter, ended up writing twenty-five more versions after our experience until we reached something we were happy with. Yes, we were behind schedule, but with material that strong, it would have been madness not to go through with it. Losing seven months of production is a lot of money, but now audiences are responding to the quality.

- Was it what you imagined, starring in this film?

I had always wanted to make a film centered around a xxxxxx xxxxxx. I used to fantasize about it. In our first meetings, I asked what was expected of me in the role, and both xxxxx xxxxxxxxx and xxx xxxxxx insisted they were looking for something theatrical, yet embedded within the realism we became so obsessed with as a cast. Stripping away characterization and limiting makeup gave the project an unexpected turn. We had all signed on for a genre piece, but what we ended up creating was a Ballardian drama. I loved that. That’s the magic of this profession. It’s also why I never anticipated the level of restraint my character would ultimately require.

- How does xxxxx xxxxxxxxx bring out the best possible performance in each actor?

I think it all comes down to trust, that’s the essence of it. Actors always want to move the audience, and to do that, each of us plays our own hand, deciding which facet of ourselves to reveal, both on set and in relation to the director and the rest of the team. Within a group, that talent rests on a balance of egos. One of xxxxx xxxxxxxxx’s key achievements was finding a way to build that trust, allowing each of us to let our ego shine at the right moment, proving we were the best at exactly what was required of us. That’s how we come across on screen.

* In June 2020, smiling in public was banned.

It was set in motion.

The aspiring actress had arrived at the hotel, heading straight to the penthouse.

The animal had received her, offering a faint smile. The entrance stretched behind them without any partitions or furniture, while the crew remained fully at work. She opened the door to my cubicle and we introduced ourselves with kisses on the cheeks.

I asked about ambition and the need to rush toward the summit, admiring how she had begun a promising career by acting differently. She replied with talk of prosthetics, masks, and the required, distinctive characterizations in that type of production, and how she believed that would come to an end. She would leave her face uncovered, even if what remained profitable would still be the body and its capabilities.

People often speak of the importance of luck and chance for actors. In xxxxx xxxxxxxxxx I saw that kind of performer who promises to act in every shot as if their life depended on it. Her face moved me a tenth of a shade paler than the tan I sensed in the rest.

There were a few slight nods, and we greeted each other again hours later.

The aspiring actress and the animal left the building. A storm had begun; they took shelter under an unadorned ledge, letting the rain brush against them.

Inside, contained.

Wichita is not her name.

One of Wichita’s grandfathers was a sailor and fisherman, boarding small vessels alongside relatives of his and of his wife. He also worked as a construction laborer. He retired early. He suffered from alcohol related problems that affected his health and his family relationships. Wichita’s parents used to recount an episode in which her grandfather got out of bed shouting that cockroaches were crawling up his legs. He woke his wife and children, who found that there were no cockroaches that it was all part of his delirium.

The doctor frightened him, and he quit drinking for good.

Wichita remembers him at home, in front of the television, watching westerns recorded on video. Sometimes they would invite her over for lunch, and she would share the endings of the films with him. They would talk about a European subgenre of westerns, many of which had been shot in the desert of xxxxxxxxx, in xxxxxxx. Her grandmother, who prepared the meals, had worked as a kitchen assistant on some of those shoots. Out of curiosity, Wichita would ask what it had been like and whether she had met this or that actor. Her grandmother, remembering very little, would only say that she always had to cook for too many people. Wichita’s grandfather would smile as he rewound the tape before taking that day’s video out.

* In July 2021, two crewed spacecraft briefly left Earth.

* In August 2021, the Taliban regime re-emerged with force, alongside a more tentative critique one that questioned narrative stereotypes and the structures of power and social control that the film industry had long promoted as both an ideological and economic instrument.

Hello

Sorry for the intrusion, but I couldn’t resist writing. Distance and ethnic origin mean nothing to me...

I hope for a pleasant acquaintance

Nagesa Zilaba

______________________________

holza

Excuse me for an intrusion, but I couldn’t overcome myself not to write you...

Hope for a pleasant acquaintance

Nagesa Zilaba

“Let’s cover our heads with clean sheets and soak them in tar.”

Andres Ferron managed to force open one of the building’s rear hatches and escaped, trembling. The rain battered him. Behind the hotel ran a road where, at the same time, someone was staging their own car accident. He heard more noise behind him, echoing against the steel of the open hatch.

Nagesa Zilaba fell on top of Andres Ferron, and both of them collapsed into a puddle, drenched, clinging to each other. Nagesa clawed at his eyes, trying to tear them from their sockets. Andres fought back with his fists and, once he had knocked her down again, with brutal kicks. He slipped and fell once more, shouting just before his clavicle struck the edge of the pavement near the road.

Nagesa, her jaw swollen, got up before him and drove a knee into his right cheekbone. Again they fell into the water. Andres bit into her left ear and tore off a piece of it. Nagesa tried to scream as he had, but couldn’t. Back on his feet, Andres spat the piece of cartilage toward a small stream, straight into a sewer grate. Their blood dissolved and swirled through the puddles and the flowing water.

Andres tried to recover the torn flesh. He lifted the grate in the road, thinking the piece might have been caught among dry leaves, trash, and mud. In the absurdity of it, he remembered everything his change of diet had meant.

Kneeling, holding the grate, he searched blindly with his left hand for that fragment of ear. In the rain, in the dark, he still couldn’t see it. Behind him, Nagesa Zilaba back on her feet pulled a silver fork from her sleeve and drove it with precision into his eyes, his jaw, and his throat.

* In September 2021, a volcano began swallowing a populated island in the Atlantic; China’s strategic influence between the Indian and Pacific Oceans became unmistakable; a global semiconductor shortage driven by the 2020 economic slowdown and COVID-19 border restrictions sparked a crisis in microprocessor production; another crewed spacecraft briefly left Earth; and the reptilians shed their latex masks, revealing that we were no longer their puppets, but their primary food source.

Wearing a yellow raincoat, the doctor pushed the wheelbarrow toward a (yellow) car with all four tires blown out. He attended to its crumpled front end lodged into the trunk of another (gray) vehicle, noticing how the open driver’s door was allowing water to soak into the upholstery. The accident did not block access along the road. He shut the door and moved on a few meters.

He came upon a human figure lying face down, curled over puddles on the pavement. He turned it over and, thanks to the rain washing through the blood, made out several wounds and openings. He lifted roughly eighty kilos and, with effort, loaded the body onto the wheelbarrow.

His destination was an underground space. Its internal layout was divided into four nearly symmetrical cubicles, without partitions, sparsely furnished, dominated by aluminum and white surfaces. The cubicles had been built like operating rooms not exactly for surgery, but for the study of sensory deprivation techniques. Cleaning, disinfection, and waste removal were carried out several times a day under strict protocol. Ventilation and air control followed another set of procedures, designed to prevent contamination. Even so, the sealed, hermetic nature of the underground did not entirely eliminate the risk of leakage or infiltration.

He unloaded the wheelbarrow and dragged the weight along the entrance corridor. Straining, he placed the body onto a platform serving as a table at the center of the first cubicle. He heated a steel plate and burned off the subject’s fingerprints. Something suggested the body was unconscious.

“What are you?” he asked himself.“And who pays you to be it?”

He cleaned the eye sockets and the openings in the jaw and throat, cauterizing them with iodine and alcohol. The body responded with faint spasms, from beneath the torso down to the feet.

He removed a glass tank filled with red sand from a compartment embedded in the wall. He set it on the platform beside the subject’s head. He plunged his right hand into the sand, dug, and pulled out a cockroach. He placed it inside the right eye socket, adjusting it, pressing it until it filled the cavity completely. With a sterilized needle and thread, he stitched the edges of the socket closed, the insect inside.

He repeated the procedure three more times with three more cockroaches: in the other eye, in the jaw opening, and in the throat. Each time he changed needle and thread, disposing of all materials in a designated container. He switched off several spotlights once the spasms ceased.

He moved through the remaining cubicles until reaching the last one.

“Finally.” he thought.

A platform stood at the center. A woman lay there, covered to her feet in sheer white gauze. He shifted her slightly to the right side of the platform and turned off more lights. He undressed, lay down, and settled on the left side, imagining a fictitious boundary separating his body from hers.

The cold aluminum of the surface made him shiver.

* In October 2021, James Bond died; a Hollywood actor accidentally killed his cinematographer while shooting a western blank rounds in a prop gun had been replaced with live ammunition and a study confirmed, statistically, that since 2008, one person had died every thirteen days attempting a selfie in an extreme or dangerous location.

Rough insertion of a green chroma for 14 seconds and a sound track that will reproduce an acoustic signal at 60 decibels until the end. Fade to black and end credits in white typography over 3 minutes and 45 seconds.

* In November 2021, another "nice guy" married the woman who had been captain of his high school cheerleading team; the ceremonial dance was performed to “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

- What did you think of casting xxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx for the other lead role?

I had seen him in “xxxxxxx xxxxxx,” but I wasn’t familiar with his work in television. What surprised me were the nuances of humor somewhere between irony and subtle cynicism that he brought to what is ultimately such a deliberately serious role. He gives the character a kind of classical strength in his performance, along with a disarming tenderness, without ever slipping into the pathetic. I think he was determined not to present the character as a puppet, even while fully embracing what we might assume to be a caricature and that’s truly remarkable.

As all the characters evolve throughout the film, his undergoes the most radical shift not so much in political direction, but in terms of his sense of self and physical presence. Even without really knowing each other, xxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx made space for me, both as an actress and as a colleague. I could feel his intensity, and his sense of wonder toward the nature of the role he was inhabiting.

- How did you approach a secondary theme like sensory deprivation within the film’s main narrative?

Unfortunately, I grew up close to someone who suffered from it very seriously. I witnessed it as a child, and I’m familiar with the kinds of tests and experiments that have been carried out in the name of patient care. I’m concerned about how these situations are usually portrayed in cinema it’s something that often bothers me. In “xxxxxxxxxx x,” the intention is not to address sensory deprivation directly. It’s more a representation of the dismantling of a solid structure, in which a group of people wake up one day to find that another group has coldly begun to occupy their same spaces and experiences. What you interpret as references to sensory deprivation are really just devices no different from those your mind would recognize in a horror framework.

- Is Nagesa Zibala’s change to Andres Ferron’s diet based on your research?

No, because I’m not entirely sure that Nagesa Zibala is the one who changes Andres Ferron’s diet. What is clear is that she tries to persuade him, although we never see her forcing him or asking him outright. My impression is that what happens with the food has more to do with their emotional state than with the triggering of specific events. It’s true that I did a great deal of research for the film, but those details were already very carefully developed in the original script.

* In January 2022, a patient received a pig heart transplant with a slight genetic modification.

Wichita sees, through Hillary Clinton’s eyes, four points of light at the top of each corner of the room. The spectator whistles into a microphone from the floor above. The young aspiring actress digs her nails into the sides of the cloakroom attendant, and Wichita notices the intimate aggression, almost in the dark, while he protects her, holding her close.

- Wichita!

- Up here!

The spectator resides in a room built to observe everything that happens in the one below.

Wichita tries to reach the loudspeaker, jumping and stretching her arms, until she accepts the difference in height between the two levels. The spectator floods the observed objects with absolute light. The room below is a six-by-six-meter space, unfurnished, with a toilet and an aluminum shower tray, an air-conditioning unit with something resting on top of it, and two unopened cans of beans at the base of one of the corners the one closest to the door.

The floor of the upper level is a panel that mimics the effect of a two-way mirror, like those used in police stations during interrogations or lineups. From below, the panel does not appear reflective, but rather like a solid fiberglass surface. From above, it feels like looking down through a sheet of methacrylate.

- You look very helpless, even next to those two.

The spectator kneels, bringing his head and microphone closer to the floor.

- You’re beautiful, Wichita.

- I thought you’d like it.

Wichita has no intention of removing the mask.

- What the hell is this?

- What does that mean?

- It means I own your room, and every part of the building you choose to move through. Nagesa Zilaba and Andres Ferron have accepted my money. People up here pay to come in and make the most of the hours of those of you down there.

The air conditioning unit hums at full power. Wichita and the other two guests shiver with cold, though they do not tremble. The room is an igloo.

- I don’t want to work for you, or with them. I’m just the flesh of Andres Ferron and Nagesa Zilaba.

- Do as you please, Wichita. Anyone who covers their head with a clean sheet and soaks it in tar must also convince me they can keep their instincts under control.

Wichita lets out a laugh. It is sound without expression behind the mask.

- Grab the can opener!

- Climb on top of each other up to the air conditioner!

Wichita, the cloakroom attendant, and the young aspiring actress sit on the floor, eating beans straight from the cans, uncooked, sipping them. The pair watch closely as Wichita reveals her mouth and jaw. Silence and cold air begin to feel like relief. The spectator withdraws the absolute light from the objects of his observation.

Four points of light remain at the corners of the room, and the spectator no longer whistles into the microphone.

The cloakroom attendant embraces the young aspiring actress; they protect each other. They no longer feel like guests of the hotel.

Wichita stifles the same burp twice in succession. She salivates, swallowing air. Inside the Hillary Clinton latex mask, it smells of beans and she is the one who begins to whistle.

* In February 2022, children and teenagers were banned from shouting in public. On the 24th, Russia, led by Vladimir Putin, launched a military attack and an impossible invasion of Ukraine’s main cities, reviving the nuclear panic of the “Cold War.” The constant manipulation of information by both aligned and opposing media made it clear that the situation was also used as a “smokescreen” for other sociopolitical or economic actions and decisions. The reptilians enjoyed, even more if possible, their privileges at the top of the food chain.

Reuniu-vos altra vegada per grups i elaboreu el text complet del personatge que presentareu per al próxim número de xx xxxxxxx xx xxxxxxxx. Ajunteu la narració de la biografia que heu de seleccionar a l'activitat z de la tasca z i la descripció que heu seleccionat a l´activitat z de la tasca z de tal manera que formin un únic text.

(Enganxeu una fotografia del personatge.)

Disposeu de 45 minuts.

* In March 2022, the Dadaists and Futurists set out to recount the history of the 21st century by relating it to the horror films of the period. They illustrated its events through chromatic stamping using potatoes, and burned or crashed cars made of cardboard and aluminum foil in institutions where, clandestinely, the smiles of all and the shouts of children and adolescents were still tolerated.

““The patient regained partial consciousness approximately twenty minutes ago. He showed clear signs of disorientation.

He attempted to scream, but the infection in his wounds and the excess mucus in his nose and throat along with the fever left him almost voiceless.

He tried to get up. He fell sideways onto the floor and then attempted to find a point of support from which to stand. He managed it halfway: shortly after rising, he collided with the wall, leaned his back against it, and fell again this time seated, with his legs slightly bent. He placed his hands, palms up, on his knees.

With the sensation of the specimens implanted in his eye sockets, throat, and jaw, the subject pressed down on the insects through the skin, crushing them. He also tried to tear out the sutures by pulling at his eyelashes, but eventually gave up. The effort of standing and reaching the wall had exhausted him.

He deliriously muttered in fragments. Something about a dinner where someone hides a fork up their sleeve. Something about a fight a struggle. Something about a shopping mall, a toy section, where he was looking for something. Something about a doll that can be shaved, whose beard grows back. Something about entering a revolving door.

Ten minutes ago, he lost consciousness again.

Four nurses, completely soaked, came to collect him. I helped them load him onto a wheelbarrow and carry him up the stairs to an ambulance positioned above the entrance. I did not put on a raincoat.

They left without turning on the siren, without pressing the accelerator too hard, avoiding any skid on the wet road.”

One of Wichita’s grandfathers woke up. He had slept without covering himself with the sheet without feeling cold, without lowering the blinds. The first thing he noticed was a ventilation grille on the wall, with an emergency bulb still lit from the night before.

Standing, he glanced out the window. He wore light blue pajamas, revealing part of the hair on his chest. He knelt and began inspecting the floor: he found two pieces of fishing line and a filter for rolling tobacco. The rest of the floor was spotless, as if it had just been waxed. His bed was on the left, and on the right there was another identical one, perfectly made.

A board ran across the headboards of both beds. Near the lamp switch and a call button, there was a small print the size of an almanac. Wichita’s grandfather picked it up and kept it, unaware of what it represented: a Vestal Virgin, an exception within the Roman priesthood. He only noticed the image of a girl veiled, holding a flame between her hands.

Two orderlies entered. Wichita’s grandfather apologized to one of them for something that had happened before going to bed. The orderly accepted the apology and downplayed the incident. He stepped into a corridor while they made his bed, and sat on a plastic chair next to another man in light blue pajamas.

As he spoke with him, he felt his senses becoming heightened. The man was apparently a gynecologist who had assisted in an infinite number of births. He reflected on the privilege almost miraculous of having helped bring so many lives into the world. Wichita’s grandfather listened attentively, noticing ivory details on the man’s gold-framed glasses and the green tint of the lenses.

A nurse opened the door at the end of the corridor and called both Wichita’s grandfather and the gynecologist for breakfast. As they crossed the threshold, a woman also in light blue pajamas approached him and asked about the print he was holding. As he showed it to her, she smiled and explained that the print was given at night to anyone who believed themselves to be xxxxxxxxxxx. Wichita’s grandfather handed it over, and the smiling woman made it definitively her own.

* In April 2022, patients in an Arkham psychiatric ward reinvented the wheel through a version of the “telephone game.”

“The second Genesis” (2012)

Country: – - -

Duraction: 136 min.

Genre: Ballardian drama

Rating: Not recommended for audiences under 18

Cast: xxxxx xxxxxxxxxx, xxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx, xxxxx xxxxxxx, xxxxxxxx xxxx, xxxxx xxxxxxxx, xxxxx xxxxxx, xxxxx xxxxxx, xxxx xxxxxx, Dina Meyer, xxxx xxxxx, Michelle Sinclair, xxxxxx xxx, xxxxxx xxxxxx, xxxxxx xxxxxx, xxxx xxxx, Raymond Chandler, xxx xxxxxxx, Auguste Maquet

Director: xxxxx xxxxxxxxx

Screenplay: xxx xxxxxx

Original characters: xxxxxx xxxxxx

Distributor: xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

Production company: Golden Cyborg

Art direction: xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxx

Sound: xxxxxx xxxxxx, Pirauas del Mohave™

Music: Pirauas del Mohave™, Charlotte Gainsbourg

Cinematography: xxxxx xxxxx xxxx

Make-up: xxxxxxxx xxxxx

Costume design: xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxx

Edition: xxxxx xxxxxxxxx, xxx xxxxxx, xxxxxx xxxxxx

Specials effects: xxxxxx xxxxxx

Associate producers: xxxxx xxxxxxxxx, xxx xxxxxx, Lars von Trier, xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx

Executive producer: xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx

Nagesa Zilaba, a former man-hunter, crosses the desert of xxxxxxx in xxxxxxx until she reaches an over-technified city, where order is enforced through xxxxxxxxxxxx and the abuse of sensory deprivation. Her skill with weapons and hand-to-hand combat makes her an ideal candidate for the role of sheriff, and although she accepts her fate, the impossibility of gradually regulating a chain of violent events forces her to abandon the appearance of established order and align herself with chaos.

In her most savage and expedient form, Nagesa Zilaba belongs to that lineage of archetypal characters that cinema and television have revisited irregularly but persistently across a wide range of productions. Perhaps the most memorable remains “xxxxx xx xx xxxxxx” (1980), by the unforgettable xxxxx xxxxxxxxx, followed in popularity by “xx xxxx xxxxxxxxxxx” (1984) by xxxxxx xxxxxxxx, though far removed in the depth of its character work.

Both Nagesa Zilaba and Andres Ferron together or separately have appeared in series and TV films that, despite their suggestive premises, have often been overlooked. This includes that apocryphal sequel xxxxx xxxxxxxxx made of his own film in “xxx xxx xxxxx xxxxxxxx” (1990–91), featuring a terrifying characterization by xxxxxx xxxxxxxx as Andron Ferres, and perhaps one of the few inspired performances by the otherwise mediocre xxxxx xxxxx as Sheriff Zalesa Nilaga. As for the failed “xxxx xxxxxx” (2003) by xxxxx xxxxxxx, it is best left unmentioned though its tentative attempt to reformulate genre discourse is worth noting, a superficial gesture that “xxxxxxxxxx x” now brings to the forefront with intelligence, without renouncing action or entertainment.

xxxxx xxxxxxxxx has always cited spaghetti westerns as a clear influence across all his projects. However, when he has approached that territory more directly in both narrative and style, it has not necessarily earned him greater critical or commercial recognition. Proof of this lies in the overlooked “xxxxxxx xxxxx” (2001) and “xx xxxxxxxx xx xxx xxxxx xxxxxxxx” (2007), which now seem to be enjoying a second life and renewed circulation.

With “xxxxxxxxxx x,” both in the trajectory of its director and in the consolidation of these characters within the popular imagination, the shift is striking: a committed embrace of Ballardian drama that never strays from the familiar, grounded in realism through extensive field research by the cast, and defined by a gritty aesthetic uncommon in productions of this scale.

xxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx, as Andres Ferron, holds the film together. His presence, expression, and delivery stand in radical contrast to the always precise xxxxx xxxxxxxxxx as Nagesa Zilaba, and to the restrained tone of the rest of the cast. He lacks her arrogance and the weight of a past that has shaped her, yet he is defined through unpredictable details in moments of constant tension, embodying the social transformations of the city and the long foretold collapse of established order.

Nagesa Zilaba’s obsession with destabilizing the community’s fragile equilibrium ultimately leads to a brutal confrontation with Andres Ferron and with each of the spectators and guests, all housed within the rented and transformed hotel they inhabit.

The film moves with agility, punctuated by suggestive tracking shots that open and close each segment as if they were chronologically fragmented scenes. xxxxx xxxxxxxxx presents conflicts directly, adjusting the rhythm according to the intensity of the action. At first, it may seem that too many themes are being introduced, but the masterful use of genre clichés as mere bait, combined with the abstract treatment of space and location, transforms “xxxxxxxxxx x” into an overwhelming luminous stain one that unsettles you in the darkness of the theater.

A masterpiece to be reclaimed in a few years by then, we will have fully understood which true reference all those already celebrated films were, in fact, imitating.

Andres Ferron, xxxxxxxx xxxxx

Folder with files dated in reverse: January 3, 2012.

I hate not ordering dinner from room service. Right now I could eat a rare steak, a Caesar salad, and a Diet Coke. A display of excess I want to turn into habit.

While showering, I thought I heard a dog barking as if it were there with me in the bathroom, on the other side of the glass. When I stepped out: nothing. No chance to pet it while I dry myself. Wet hair, blush, mascara, lipstick, everything. Jeans, flats, and a golden bodysuit. Speckled like a tiger.

I swallow and sweat fear. I step outside. The trip won’t last long.

I arrive with seven minutes to spare, no heat, no humidity. I glance at the tourists, the cars, even the cornices. 1 arrives at 8:09, stops in front of me, plays the joker, approves of my outfit, and I smile. 2 appears as if he had been crouching behind that tree the whole time. My legs go weak without eating I can’t go anywhere. 3 shows up late, finishing a can of beer. We scold him without losing our sense of humor, without any tension at all.

Cars move slowly. They won’t kill any tourists if they run them over.

We talk about God or something like that.

2: - …plants make me anxious…

me: - Plants?

1: - I didn’t know that.

me: - Neither did I.

2: - They’re like people… shapeless…

1: - Ha, ha…

2: - …with their insides on the outside, no bones.

1: - You don’t like plants?

2: - I do, but they unsettle me.

me: - Well, in the botanical garden of xxxxxx…

2: - There! There!…

me: - I didn’t know that, 2.

2: - It’s recent. It didn’t use to happen to me…

me: - Did it overwhelm you there?

2: - …I focus too much on details, and they overwhelm me.

1: - I get what you mean they’re living beings…

2: - It’s a feeling, like they’re part of something.

me: - And they’re all different: evil and poisonous! Ha, ha…

2: - Ha, ha…

3: - Ha, ha…

1: - Ha, ha…

2: - I think it has to do with too much information, and your brain amplifies it… I’ve gotten used to fixing my gaze on many things…

me: - That happens to me when I read…

2: - …inert, artificial things and you humanize them so much that when you see something truly alive, it almost scares you.

me: - They could take over the world! Ha, ha…

2: - Ha, ha…

1: - Ha, ha…

3: - Ha, ha…

3: - We’ll get used to it, ha, ha…

2: - Ha, ha…

me: - Ha, ha…

1: - Ha, ha…

2 bends down and picks something up from the ground, beneath a trash can, just before we cross to the next sidewalk. It’s a gray toy rat with red-painted eyes. The other three of us look at it in his hands. It irritates me that thing even more when he slips it into the right pocket of my pants. The other two burst out laughing and don’t stop mocking me.

Bastards.

Through coding, certain instinctive drives such as possession can be refined, as we are dealing with the vocabulary through which we construct our sense of spectacle, gaining access to a stage where the abject and the feared can be represented while we simultaneously exalt our own lives.

Phenomena that culminate in spectacle favor the arts of simulation and resistance, both ancestrally indispensable.

The hegemonic appearance of Europe both in the avant-garde and in academic tradition—began to fracture upon discovering…

Despite the Cold War and the brief May ’68, the result was a reordering of states under a global American political framework…

Once the United States had secured the capitalist model abroad, it refined its ambitions by establishing its own academic tradition.

At certain moments, the euro also asserted its strength, but a widespread crisis has opened the possibility of an Asian alternative…

Cultural tradition remains unquestionable, though not directly tied to external commercial conquest...

Another modernity and the competition to capitalize on it can be seen emerging on the horizon.

Sincerely

Nagesa Zilaba, Director of Skyscraper 17, Organization xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx

Andres Ferron was operating medium-complexity graphs when he was summoned by the Directorate of Skyscraper 17 with a brief email. He left everything behind and descended the fire escape to the Organization’s main office.

He was questioned by the Director and the Secretary regarding the requirements of an external administrative body responsible for the security of Skyscraper 17. Andres Ferron withdrew into himself; his vision blurred, and he slipped his hands into the pockets of his uniform as the Secretary instructed him to take a seat.

The Director proceeded to operate high-complexity graphs with speed, following the Secretary’s directive instructions.

Once the requirements had been fulfilled, Andres Ferron was invited to leave the Organization’s main office signaled only through the Director’s body language. He exchanged a few banal remarks with the Secretary before returning to his department, climbing back up the fire escape.

It was in those precise moments that he felt like the greatest impostor in all of Skyscraper 17.

* In November 2022, a group of physics students introduced a low-cost AI system as a teaching and assessment tool, with the full cooperation of their human instructors.

* In 2022, the Blackout occurred (for weeks) due to an electromagnetic pulse of unknown origin, and all electronic information was destroyed or severely damaged. This B-movie outlined in web format, and its sequels, are biased remnants derived from that Blackout.

"“I burn when she appears docile, but in intimacy she turns cold and assumes command. I listen to her but never obey, which is why I always expect to be punished.”

“I’m so drawn to human women that I end up repelling them. I would skin them to cook and eat their muscles and joints, but in that exchange I’m terrified they might think the same of me.”

Recognizing myself in Andron Ferres, portrayed by xxxxxx xxxxxxxx, instilled in me an immense sense of courage. I would even go so far as to say that his terrifying characterization precisely confirms my own way of thinking.

About twelve years ago, xxxxxx xxxxxxxx appeared in a series of workplace safety and risk-prevention videos that were to be used in my company, x. x. xxxxxxxxx. Those videos suggested something to me something with a deeper meaning, sublimated within the additional layer of their staging.

SWhen I met him in person, I heard certain episodes from his life, and what had initially seemed like a mere impression gave way to absolute certainty. In “xxx xxx xxxxx xxxxxxxx,” that same sensation has become something crystalline something that no longer requires explanation.

As he told me at the time, the seed of that staging was inspired by a puppet performance in which the actors themselves played dolls something that still feels unsettling to a general audience. It was not an appropriate method for drama or for works of high culture, with their intellectual patina or their cosmetic claims to social critique.

And yet, there exists an entire school of actors who have subverted the direction of spectacle itself, responding to the audience’s lukewarm reception of more radical proposals. They transcend genres and conventions, moving toward the language of action, horror, or science-fiction toward their clichés and demands.

Grand Guignol, gore, and hyperrealistic or extreme violence have shifted from being expressions of terror and atrocity into mere devices of comedy. The viewer initiated into this alternative school enters into tension, unsettled not by excess, but by the absence of pain and the coldness with which the psychology of the characters is presented.

xxxxxx xxxxxxxx clarified to me that this kind of spectacle is not merely an exercise in restraint, but has more to do with the repression of everything in human behavior that brings us closer to the animal.

The performance of Andron Ferres may not revolutionize the avant-garde of the absurd or the consumption of mass culture, but it is undeniable that it will help xxxxxx xxxxxxxx endure as both a chameleonic actor and a fervent critic of his own profession.

As for me, I only intend to address his enemies.

xxxx xxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxx Musician and writer

ANDRES FERRON

Screenwriter based in Aguadulce (Almería). Known as “The Bleary-Eyed One.”

““A kind of narrative intoxication that leaves us overwhelmed smiling in a daze or unsettled. Brilliant, and infinitely close to the ordinary.”

xxxxxxx xxxxxxx, xxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Language, and the way he constructs text, is about taking the basic wrapping and playing with it. He folds it. Twists it. Transforms it completely. And never forgets what it is.”

xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx, xxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx

“Intense and exuberant. Getting close leaves you breathless, shaken, ready to shift your perspective on whatever you’re reading.”

xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx, xxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx

“He chews through the conventions of the market that keep us tied to a nonexistent past, rejecting hagiography and refusing to turn mediocre characters into saints. He sketches them with opportunistic gestures, without imposing grand moral weight, until the narrative loses any trace of veracity. Only a drastic break can recalibrate that line and bring it back to reality.”

xxxxxx xxxxxxxxxx, xxxxxxx

“You don’t read him just to read you press yourself against his chest because he chills you with the excitement of the hallucinated, of the madman. Andres Ferron tears apart his own creation of the world, with no regard whatsoever for anyone.”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxxx, xxxxxxxxxx xx xxxxxxxx

“A very average author, who occupies his place and does his job as well as possible, with all his limitations.”

xxxxx xxxxx, xx xxxxxx xxxxxx

“I often think about him. Two adults in costume one as Pluto, the other as a squirrel dancing in a children’s show. Inside an impregnable fortress, to the rhythm of catechism songs. In the background, the flags of every country in the European Community, even though it might all be happening in Colombia. Who does this guy think he is?”

xxxxxx xxxxxx, xxxxxxxx xx xxxxxx xxxxx