I watched this film at the MIX festival in Mexico City. I came out of the movie theater feeling like there's nothing more beautiful than loneliness, the film distressed me quite a bit. Every corner in this film: the moldy wall, the creaking bed, the squeaking door that erupted in lemon green, the stubborn hinge, every cigarette, cup of coffee, every book (Sylvia Plath for God's sake!) felt like it had been forgotten and left to rot. Just Galo's room: perfectly lit, wide and tidy, impeccable in its decoration, told me I wasn't welcome in it. He was okay, he didn't need me like the darkness in Carlota's room, the battered kitchen with piles of dirty dishes, the privacy of the storage room where Alex ends up sleeping and the anguish of the room he shared with Fama. The story evolves in such a way that it says less than what it shows; there's always a question in the air. Is the film about homosexuality, boredom, loneliness, domination? Is it about the hunger of controlling and playing with others? It reminded me of Exile & The Kingdom by Camus because you end up with nothing and everything in the end. It's like Waiting for Godot by Becket or even Sartre's No Exit, where the characters and their surroundings all tell a story at the same time which can seem endless. Now that I think about it it also reminded me of a piece that was recently found by Tryno Maldonado (a Mexican author too) where the protagonist is a perverse and fetishistic painter called Golo
just like here this character is called Galo. It shares with the film, aside from peculiar phonetic similarities, the eagerness to destroy everyone around him.