Filmmaker Ruby White sets off on a sweeping European tour with her latest film Headshots, bringing along her daughter Sara as her assistant. The first screening proves to be a muted affair, with an auditorium that feels almost empty and a mood that hints at unsettled relationships behind the camera. After a late-night out, Ruby’s party-going becomes a catalyst for the trip: Sara decides to abandon the Berlin leg and stays behind in Paris with her cousin Lili, shifting the dynamic of the journey from a shared mother-daughter project to two separate paths unfolding across two cities.
In Berlin, Ruby dresses herself in a bandage and fake blood to promote Headshots, a bold, attention-grabbing gambit that yields only limited traction. While she spends an evening at a bar, a stranger poses a stark question—“Are you a good person or a bad person?”—and the moment sparks an impulse: Ruby crafts a two-sided sign, one side declaring she is a good person and the other declaring she is a bad person, a physical symbol of the inner ambiguity she carries. She spends time wandering a park, posing the same question to various strangers, watching how each response reveals different facets of judgment, guilt, and art spilling into life.
Meanwhile in Paris, Sara learns she is pregnant, sharing the news with her boyfriend by means of a lively Skype call. Her visit to Père Lachaise Cemetery is narrated with a quiet, reflective voice as she visits with an old actor friend of her mother. She recounts a story tied to her own birth: her mother was pregnant with Sara while filming in the cemetery, and she speaks of a moment when miscarriage seemed a real possibility. The day deepens when Sara decides to seal the moment with an infinity symbol tattoo, a mark she hopes will symbolize something enduring as she contemplates a future that now includes parenthood.
Back in Berlin, the Berlin screening of Ruby’s film returns to the same near-empty room, a reminder of the film’s intimate, fragile reception. In the pre-screening introduction, Ruby offers a candid confession about her personal life, explaining that the film was born from a breaking point in her marriage; she hopes her husband might see it and understand something about their relationship through the work she has made. The revelation situates the film not just as art, but as a self-portrait of longing, disaffection, and a desire for clarity.
As the days unfold, Sara tells her partner that she isn’t ready to have a baby, even as she makes clear her love for him. The conversation carries a weight that sits alongside the other emotional currents coursing through the journey. Eventually, the two women decide to return home together, and the moment of reuniting becomes a quiet, human clasp. Sitting side by side in the airport, waiting for their flight to take off, they reach a small, tangible resolution: they hold hands, a simple gesture that speaks to solidarity, care, and a shared resilience in the face of uncertainty.
