Parked by a club, a woman walks to her car and gets in on the driver’s side. An unseen man walks with her. She puts her music and seatbelt on while the man rests his hand on the seat of her convertible.
From the night, a phone is seen on the floor and a bed. He opens the door. In the bathroom, the next morning, Enrique Iglesias rubs his eyes and looks into the mirror. The woman drives off.
He remembers driving through a tunnel, lit a lime green at a high speed. There was also a party he attended the night before. After taking some drug, he was stoned for the night and moved at a lethargic pace.
He pulls away a curtain and focuses on a woman’s leopard spotted pattern on her mini-skirt. A guy, his eyes half-closed, stumbles to let him through. As he passes through the crystal white lights, he looks around, trying to gauge his surroundings. A woman with a golden dress and a flower perched in her hair bites her mouth when she sees him.
In the corner, the woman (with the convertible) spots him and puts her thumb in her mouth. He follows her through a torn curtain into a family room, draped with a white curtain over the windows. People are dancing. The noise has gotten to be too much for him. He laughs at something.
He falls into a pool. Earlier, he had seen the woman (with the convertible) arguing with her boyfriend by the pool. They both got into each other’s faces. She gave him an annoyed look for eavesdropping.
He falls onto a bed, feathers from a pillow all over his face and hair. A pillow fight happened sometime during the party.
Back in the bathroom, he opens the toilet seat and sparkling dots of water emerge.
In the bar, lit a Brandeis blue, a man lights a sparkler over a bowl. Sparks of orange go off in every direction. Back in the house, his breath turns into lines of gold and blue.
He continues to speed through the city.
At the bar, the host takes the woman’s name. A bouncer asks for his identification. Surveillance footage (in black-and-white) shows them being admitted into the V.I.P. room. A woman, wearing a mask, exhales smoke in his face. On his phone, he takes pictures of the people dancing. A man pours liquor into a woman’s mouth. He reads a text.
He follows the woman to the bar, where the bartender pours out at least six shots. He takes a shot and then tries to wrangle the bottle out of the bartender’s hands. Sometime that night, they have sex.
A remote is picked up and the television is turned off.
An enticing evening where memories are vague and messages pop up from strangers on the phone from the night before. Enrique Iglesias seems to be have been slipped a roofie in his drink, following a strange woman from place to place with doe-eyes and on blind faith. It’s the rare occurrence where the man seems to be taken advantage of instead of the other way around.
There is no euphoria felt from him while he’s wasted. He wanders, trailing a woman, who is arguing with her boyfriend. Then, he seems to hallucinate her image throughout the night. At one point, it’s him who is speeding down the highway alone. His plodding through the party seems to be out of fear and seeking help rather than losing himself to some sort of high.
While jumping from the highway to the party, the storyline breaks off two pieces, none of which to connect to the other. Add in Iglesias’ child-like wonder during the pillow fight and the chaste kissing, it becomes unwittingly dangerous. Iglesias is incapacitated, thinking like a little kid and somehow he sees the woman (who seems to exist only in his mind at a certain point) as a resource to get out.
Director: Yasha Malekzad Year: 2013
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