First Name: Carmen

In a sun‑bleached coastal town where the sea hums against crumbling concrete, the city’s restless pulse is scored by a string quartet rehearsing Beethoven’s late quartets. Their languid, dissonant passages drift through alleys and over rooftops, turning ordinary streets into a dream‑like stage. The film’s tone is deliberately erotic and fable‑like, a blend of playful provocation and quiet melancholy that recalls the director’s earlier work, where every glance can feel both intimate and conspiratorial.

​Carmen arrives as a magnetic, self‑described “terrorist,” whose voice‑over introduces her as the girl who should not be named. She is both charismatic and unsettling, coaxing her estranged uncle, Jean, a once‑renowned but now washed‑out filmmaker, into lending his seaside apartment for what is pitched as an avant‑garde “movie.” The promise of art‑ful extravagance masks a more reckless intention, weaving together the allure of cinematic illusion with the edge of something far more dangerous, all under the watchful eye of the ever‑present sea.

Around them, a small circle of collaborators gathers: Joseph, a comically inept security guard whose presence becomes an unexpected point of fascination, and Claire, a member of the rehearsing quartet whose delicate piano work offers a counterpoint to the brewing chaos. Their interactions hint at tangled loyalties and fleeting romance, set against the backdrop of a city that seems simultaneously ordinary and charged with hidden currents. The atmosphere teeters between the seductive rhythm of the music and the tension of a plan that blurs the line between performance and reality, inviting the audience to wonder how far the characters will let art dictate their lives.

Last Updated: December 04, 2025 at 16:17