Director
A fisherman has the impression that he is rotting from the inside, like one of his teeth that is bothering him. Lost in the maze of his painful memories, frustrated by the sense of disorder that surrounds him, he is helpless in the face of the spectacle of the repressed demonstrators he sees every day on television. His depression causes his body to melt in an abstract way and to disperse in trails of droplets, in the manner of Francis Bacon's portraits.
