Lucía and Manuel simply want to get to the beach. In the front seats of the Mazda they travel in, moving along an endless road to the North of Chile, their parents are only seen from the “back seat,” a symbol of what it entails being a child; the space outside the car, framed through its windows, is part of the partial and limited view of the world we all have at that age. The focal length is determined by a road that devours the shot frame as the Mazda moves on. The fragile promise of finally getting to the beach is a reflection of the many erosion layers suffered by the married couple. Fragmented dialogues, extraordinary situations witnessed from behind bushes, old-fashioned songs. Ten-year-old Lucía —the charming alter ego of the filmmaker— goes to and fro as she witnesses this journey through the evidences of a breakdown. There is an aura of mystery around the protagonist of this beautiful road movie —Dominga Sotomayor’s first feature film— with the lucid cinematograpy by Bárbara Álvarez (Whisky and La mujer sin cabeza). Instead of extending the shots to reinforce the feeling of boredom, she chooses to dose the information presented in them to immerse us into an experience of semi confinement. It is not by chance over half the film is shown through a camera placed inside the car. In face of the reality of the grandiosity of Chilean landscapes, the director states: “Just as I didn’t want to exploit the drama of a couple in crisis, I didn’t want to expose these landscapes.” With an interest in the relation between film and memory, Dominga Sotomayor uses her own memories of interminable car trips with her family to tell the story of a crumbling marriage, the beautiful chronicle of a father’s farewell narrated through childhood eyes.