A man stands alone in a barren landscape. He wears a poncho, a chain of beads, and a sombrero that darkens his face. Having lingered on him for a few moments, the camera pans right, as if it’s more interested in the sand and rocks. But the man follows suit and returns to the center of the frame. Now the camera pans back left, pursued by the man, who again confronts the viewer. “You will say that I am stubborn,” the narrator begins. “That it is folly to lament one’s luck, and more so in this stupefying, benumbed land.” The scene cuts to other men in the desert, crouched against small ridges. “The truth is that it’s hard to adjust to hunger,” the narrator goes on. “The only certain thing is that everyone here is half-dead, and without a place to drop over.”
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