Kissed

In a quiet town where the line between the living and the dead is constantly whispered about, the story unfolds within the hushed corridors of a funeral home and the sterile halls of a university biology lab. The setting is steeped in the ritualistic atmosphere of embalming rooms, morgue lights that flicker like distant beacons, and the unsettling calm of a car‑wash‑spun hearse gliding through rain‑slick streets. This world feels both clinical and lyrical, a place where the ordinary is tinged with an undercurrent of reverence for what most try to forget.

Sandra Larson has been drawn to death since childhood, turning the macabre into a personal art form—dancing with animal corpses, staging improvised funerals, and dissecting small beings with a reverent hand. Now an apprentice embalmer under the watchful eye of Mr. Wallis, she shares the morgue’s quiet obsession with a kindred spirit, the janitor Jan, who believes that even the stillest bodies retain a lingering soul. A chance encounter with Matt, a medical student forced to study cadavers for his coursework, introduces a fragile connection between two people who both navigate the boundary between life and death. Their bond is built on curiosity, shared rituals, and an unspoken tension that hints at deeper, uncharted desires.

The film moves with a slow, eerie grace, letting the audience feel the weight of each breath in a space where silence speaks louder than words. Its tone balances stark realism with poetic melancholy, inviting viewers to contemplate the allure of mortality through the eyes of those who tend to its remains. As Sandra continues her intimate choreography with the departed, an unsettling question lingers: how far can one dance with the dead before the pull of the living becomes impossible to ignore?