Sidewalls

In the restless streets of Buenos Aires, two strangers inhabit mirror‑image studios that share a thin dividing wall, each apartment a compact stage for solitary rituals. The city’s skyline, ever‑shifting, serves as a silent witness to lives that pulse behind closed doors, where the hum of screens and the glare of neon replace the warmth of conversation. The atmosphere is intimate yet distant, a blend of urban melancholy and quiet hope that lingers in the air of cafés, laundromats, and the narrow corridors that stitch the neighborhood together.

Mariana returns to the modest flat she once called home, carrying the echo of a recent breakup and the tentative dreams of an aspiring architect who still sketches possibilities on crumpled paper. Her world is a careful choreography of routine—arranging mannequins, scrolling through endless images, and listening to the faint music leaking from a neighbor’s piano—each act a way to keep loneliness at bay while she searches for a sense of place in a metropolis that feels both vast and confining.

Across the sidewall, Martin lives a parallel existence as a web designer whose evenings are spent chasing light through a camera lens, trying to capture the city’s texture while grappling with his own unease. He, too, leans on small acts of care—tending to a dog, rearranging furniture, scrolling through online spaces—to fill the gaps left by a life that feels too fragile to touch. Their shared wall becomes an unspoken conduit, a thin line that hints at connection without ever breaking the surface. The film lingers on the quiet resonance between these two lives, inviting viewers to contemplate how proximity can both conceal and suggest the possibility of intimacy in a world where everyone seems just a wall away.

Last Updated: October 14, 2025 at 03:49