Berenice (Tres Videocartas) (2022)

A book destroyed by a bloodhound will awaken memories and anecdotes in the form of three video letters addressed to Berenice. The letters aim to invite her to a reunion to remember old times. Will you accept the invitation? These are "letters". But in reality he is a filmmaker who is measuring himself against the present and the past; with the city of Quito; with the friendship of a woman who lives in memory, but whose face gradually dematerializes, like Poe's Berenice. The director has been reflecting aloud for some time, as in a tenacious soliloquy by Horacio Castellanos Moya. But, while he makes diatribes, in Berenice there is more of an elegy; or a suspension of judgment that is expressed, for rhetorical purposes, assertively, with a conviction typical of one who already knows, in reality, that everything is useless, that everything has been said, that Berenice is not going to arrive. Between color and black and white, between salvaged bits and pieces of Ecuador's history, there is only one thing for sure: the only thing that never dies is the past.