A single, white room with a blue tent where two men share a relationship for which there are no words. Boban and Boris live within a set of identical, abandoned bungalows, in the midst of stray donkeys, plastic bottles, red berries, tall trees and transient workers. Someone else enters their secluded space, disturbing their routine. The outside world brings stories of different times, of cities to the north and south, of how something is made. New bonds form and old ones shift. Love can be fragile when not given a name. No, don’t call me “comrade”. What should I call you then?
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With the support of the Eurimages Fund of the Council of Europe
