Death of a Cyclist

In a sun‑drenched Spain where polished façades mask deeper anxieties, the world of the film moves between the elegance of high society and the starkness of its peripheral streets. The camera drifts through opulent salons and winding country roads, setting a tone that feels simultaneously languid and taut, as though the very landscape is holding its breath. This atmosphere of quiet privilege is constantly undercut by an undercurrent of unease, suggesting that appearances are fragile and easily shattered.

Juan Fernández Soler, a university professor with a past that brushes against the country’s recent history, navigates his intellectual life with a mixture of ambition and uncertainty. He shares a secret liaison with María José de Castro, a wealthy married woman whose social standing rests on the flawless performance of her public persona. Their relationship is marked by fleeting moments of freedom that contrast sharply with the rigid expectations that surround them, creating a charged intimacy that feels both intoxicating and perilous.

One breezy afternoon, the couple’s daring escape along a winding road leads to an unexpected collision with a lone cyclist. The incident becomes a silent catalyst, turning their private escape into a source of lingering dread. The fear that their hidden connection might be exposed looms over every subsequent decision, and the guilt that surfaces threatens to erode the carefully constructed walls each has built around their lives.

Observing from the periphery is Rafa, an incisive art critic who has spent months studying the elite circles the pair inhabit. His probing presence injects a quiet menace, hinting at the possibility that the truth may surface through his own agenda. As the characters grapple with conscience, reputation, and the weight of their choices, the film sustains a mood of simmering tension, inviting the audience to wonder how far individuals will go to preserve the lives they have carefully designed.

Last Updated: December 05, 2025 at 09:31