Malon

Sosa works in a bar, he is 40 years old and emigrated alone to Buenos Aires from his village when he was very young. His life is routine; his days pass between work and the dead hours in the boarding house where he lives. Sometimes, he talks laconically with his neighbor. Boxing is almost his only distraction, and he trains alone. This is how his days go by, without major emotions or ups and downs. Until one day, an old and worn postcard stuck on a shelf in the kitchen of the bar catches your attention. He has been observing her for years, imagining her, imagining her. Someone speaks to him briefly of the painting depicted in it, almost as he passes, and Sosa, with the same naturalness with which he raises a table or hits the sandbag, decides to go to the Museum to know the original work from Angel Della Valle. Once in front of the painting, Sosa will understand some issues of his life and finally he will try to redeem himself. Building his fiction from the real, Malon displays a meticulous and descriptive look, at the right point between the documentary and certain literary textures.