In Crossbow the spoiler is right in front of you, there in the title. A crossbow is an anachronistic device and does not, at least in my mind, lend itself well to analogy or metaphor. In spite, or, more accurately, precisely because this ominous title hangs over the very start of viewing, the short film remarkably sustains a growing dread throughout its languid narration and slow-moving, though arresting visuals; maximizing its force not through the promise of surprise but through the inevitability of its conclusion.

Un ragazzo. Suo padre e sua madre. Sesso e droghe. E il ragazzo della porta accanto ad assistere al tutto.

Un chico. Su mamá y su papá. El sexo y las drogas. Y el chico de la puerta de al lado que vio cómo se desenredaba todo.