
Temporada
Ines SalgadoA night clerk at a residential hotel in Mexico City lets her grown son move into room four and stops asking why he came back.
Seven films that take place after everyone sensible has gone to bed. Not one of them treats night as a mood. Here night is a shift somebody is working, a bus somebody is waiting for, a pool that is only free at that hour. Start with Sodium Lights if you have sixteen minutes. Start with Temporada if you have the whole evening.

A night clerk at a residential hotel in Mexico City lets her grown son move into room four and stops asking why he came back.

Two sisters clean a bank tower between four and seven in the morning, and one of them has a bus ticket she has not mentioned.

A twenty-four hour locksmith in Koreatown opens a car at two in the morning for a man who is very calm about not having the key.

A singer books the cheapest studio hours in Lagos, three until five in the morning, and gets one take before the generator runs dry.

A tram driver on the last eastbound run notices a passenger who rides to the terminus and then rides back, four nights running.

In a Los Angeles where every private pool is metered, two strangers meet at three in the morning in somebody else's water.

A fire lookout on her second night alone reports a light at a bearing where there is no road.