Abaddon

Gaspard's car rushes onto a road as black as the sky, lined with anemic trees. His radio picks up a weird frequency, a broadcast about him. The voice emitted is not that of a presenter, nor an advertising jingle, it rehashes fragments of his life. Gaspard's eyes look at nothing, they project the moving slides of his trajectory in ruptures, of the stages which have led him here, nowhere.

No trailer...