Julio is a young adult with poor social skills. He works in a laundromat trying to avoid clients and hiding his shyness behind pieces of other people's clothing. One day he finds a curious object in one of the pockets and he discovers a different side of himself, a side that enjoys sneaking into other people’s houses to steal their most intimate belongings. He starts to discover a whole new world, populated by different and fascinating people, halfway between fantasy and reality. But who cares, isn’t fantasy far better than reality? 　　Alex Muñoz in his debut manages to convert the story of a social dysfunctional young man in a captivating and engaging urban tale, a story of loneliness & alienation, romance and hidden desire and yes, even love. Loneliness is a constant in today's life, let’s accept it, but through an amazingly created cinematic world, the filmmaker makes Julio an intriguing and charming character who dives into the paradoxical feeling of lonesomeness both while being in a crowd and on his own with his stolen things. Together the fluid camera movements, a map of evolving sounds and perfect music track choices transfer the film into pure poetry and a search for love. Will Julio find it?

蒋新月（金九熹 饰）从小就失去了母亲，和父亲过着相依为命的生活。父亲是一个酒鬼，常常置蒋新月于不顾，久而久之，蒋新月形成了极为独立的性格，但内心里又对爱极度的渴望。高考前夕，蒋新月有了男友伍洛七（孟蔚 饰），但当蒋新月来到大城市念大学后，两人之间的距离越来越远。

Julio is a young adult with poor social skills. He works in a laundromat trying to avoid clients and hiding his shyness behind pieces of other people's clothing. One day he finds a curious object in one of the pockets and he discovers a different side of himself, a side that enjoys sneaking into other people’s houses to steal their most intimate belongings. He starts to discover a whole new world, populated by different and fascinating people, halfway between fantasy and reality. But who cares, isn’t fantasy far better than reality? 　　Alex Muñoz in his debut manages to convert the story of a social dysfunctional young man in a captivating and engaging urban tale, a story of loneliness & alienation, romance and hidden desire and yes, even love. Loneliness is a constant in today's life, let’s accept it, but through an amazingly created cinematic world, the filmmaker makes Julio an intriguing and charming character who dives into the paradoxical feeling of lonesomeness both while being in a crowd and on his own with his stolen things. Together the fluid camera movements, a map of evolving sounds and perfect music track choices transfer the film into pure poetry and a search for love. Will Julio find it?

出生在偏远小城的蒋新月，在她很小的时候母亲便去世了，她由父亲蒋伟文一人拉扯大。蒋伟文平时酷 爱饮酒，对蒋新月的关心也不够细腻，由于母爱以及父爱的…

线上游戏公司DSZ公司总经理何不遇带着公司的100万失踪了，公司董事长阮凌竹（也是何不遇的妻子）怒不可言。她知道他是躲到某个情人家里去了，但是具体是谁不知道。于是，阮凌竹想办法把和何不遇有关系的几个女人弄到了一起，她要弄清楚到底谁是那个“情人”......

线上游戏公司DSZ公司总经理何不遇带着公司的100万失踪了，公司董事长阮凌竹（也是何不遇的妻子）怒不可言。她知道他是躲到某个情人家里去了，但是具体是谁不知道。于是，阮凌竹想办法把和何不遇有关系的几个女人弄到了一起，她要弄清楚到底谁是那个“情人”......

梅丽莎（艾米·斯马特 Amy Smart 饰）和华裔玉林（Tim Chiou 饰）是一对来自美国的新婚夫妇，他们将蜜月地点选在玉林的家乡——中国广东某县。异域文化让土生土长的美国女孩梅丽莎好奇、惊喜，不过也许他们挑错了时机。是时正值农历七月，中国的鬼节临近。当地导游平（Dennis Chan 饰）驱车载着二人前往玉林的家。夜深人静，道路蜿蜒，人生地不熟的平失去方向，来到一片陌生的村庄。平下车问路，却始终不见回来。夫妻二人焦急万分，于是下车寻找。他们一无所获，反而被恐怖的叫声下的失魂落魄。 　　两人驱车逃跑，一路上惊险不断。梅丽莎曾和平谈论过饿死鬼的传说，而在鬼门大开的时分，似乎饿死鬼并非只是传说……

梅丽莎（艾米·斯马特 Amy Smart 饰）和华裔玉林（Tim Chiou 饰）是一对来自美国的新婚夫妇，他们将蜜月地点选在玉林的家乡——中国广东某县。异域文化让土生土长的美国女孩梅丽莎好奇、惊喜，不过也许他们挑错了时机。是时正值农历七月，中国的鬼节临近。当地导游平（Dennis Chan 饰）驱车载着二人前往玉林的家。夜深人静，道路蜿蜒，人生地不熟的平失去方向，来到一片陌生的村庄。平下车问路，却始终不见回来。夫妻二人焦急万分，于是下车寻找。他们一无所获，反而被恐怖的叫声下的失魂落魄。 　　两人驱车逃跑，一路上惊险不断。梅丽莎曾和平谈论过饿死鬼的传说，而在鬼门大开的时分，似乎饿死鬼并非只是传说……

Darezhan Omirbaev's penchant for spare, elliptical narrative, muted figures, and disembodied framing (most notably, of hands and feet) have often been (favorably) compared to the rigorous aesthetic of Robert Bresson. However, in imposing such a somber - and inescapably cerebral - analogy, there is also a propensity to overlook the wry, self-effacing humor and irony of situation that pervade his films: a lyricism that equally captures the human comedy in all its contradictions and nobility from the margins of Soviet society. This sense of the quotidian as a continuum of human experience, elegantly rendered in Omirbaev's recent film, The Road through Amir's recurring daydream of a mother milking a cow and her intrusive child (who, in turn, looks remarkably like Amir's own son) in rural Kazakhstan (an image that subsequently proves to be a catalytic historical memory from his childhood when man landed on the moon), can also be seen from the outset of Omirbaev's cinema through his incorporation of a decidedly Buñuelian sequence in the short film, July of a young boy who, while on the lookout for guards near the foothills of a kolkhoz commissary, curiously finds himself wandering into a recital hall where the performance of a young pianist is punctuated by the appearance of a horseman on the stage. Part pastoral observation on the pervasiveness of underdevelopment and the austerity of life in the rural villages of Soviet-era collective farms (and in particular, at the outlying frontiers of the Soviet Central Asia), and part autofiction on a pair of restless boys whose penchant for escapist (mis)adventures reveal a nascent, if displaced, creative sensibility, July establishes the aesthetic framework that would come to define Omirbaev's cinema: the overture of first love depicted through seemingly innocent - yet deliberate - passing touches (the bus encounter in Kaïrat, the movie house flirtation in July); the frustration of isolation inherent in a rural childhood manifested through acts of mischief (the opening sequence of Kaïrat, the courtyard fight of Kardiogramma), the subconscious act of self-reflection illustrated through literal self-reflection through the reflected image of a rear view mirror (Marat's drive home from the hospital in Killer, Amir's extended road trip to visit his ailing mother in The Road). Inevitably, what proves to be the most remarkable - and irresistible - aspect of Omirbaev's deceptively simple coming of age film is its ability to capture the interpenetration between reality and fiction interpenetrate with such seemingly effortless, uninhibited intimacy - a wide eyed innocence that hovers in the ephemeral - ever teetering between solemnity and absurdity, boredom and roguishness, anxiety and imagination.

Darezhan Omirbaev's penchant for spare, elliptical narrative, muted figures, and disembodied framing (most notably, of hands and feet) have often been (favorably) compared to the rigorous aesthetic of Robert Bresson. However, in imposing such a somber - and inescapably cerebral - analogy, there is also a propensity to overlook the wry, self-effacing humor and irony of situation that pervade his films: a lyricism that equally captures the human comedy in all its contradictions and nobility from the margins of Soviet society. This sense of the quotidian as a continuum of human experience, elegantly rendered in Omirbaev's recent film, The Road through Amir's recurring daydream of a mother milking a cow and her intrusive child (who, in turn, looks remarkably like Amir's own son) in rural Kazakhstan (an image that subsequently proves to be a catalytic historical memory from his childhood when man landed on the moon), can also be seen from the outset of Omirbaev's cinema through his incorporation of a decidedly Buñuelian sequence in the short film, July of a young boy who, while on the lookout for guards near the foothills of a kolkhoz commissary, curiously finds himself wandering into a recital hall where the performance of a young pianist is punctuated by the appearance of a horseman on the stage. Part pastoral observation on the pervasiveness of underdevelopment and the austerity of life in the rural villages of Soviet-era collective farms (and in particular, at the outlying frontiers of the Soviet Central Asia), and part autofiction on a pair of restless boys whose penchant for escapist (mis)adventures reveal a nascent, if displaced, creative sensibility, July establishes the aesthetic framework that would come to define Omirbaev's cinema: the overture of first love depicted through seemingly innocent - yet deliberate - passing touches (the bus encounter in Kaïrat, the movie house flirtation in July); the frustration of isolation inherent in a rural childhood manifested through acts of mischief (the opening sequence of Kaïrat, the courtyard fight of Kardiogramma), the subconscious act of self-reflection illustrated through literal self-reflection through the reflected image of a rear view mirror (Marat's drive home from the hospital in Killer, Amir's extended road trip to visit his ailing mother in The Road). Inevitably, what proves to be the most remarkable - and irresistible - aspect of Omirbaev's deceptively simple coming of age film is its ability to capture the interpenetration between reality and fiction interpenetrate with such seemingly effortless, uninhibited intimacy - a wide eyed innocence that hovers in the ephemeral - ever teetering between solemnity and absurdity, boredom and roguishness, anxiety and imagination.