It’s 1968 and eight characters await the end of a torrential downpour (and possibly civilization as we know it) from inside the walls of a remote Mexican bus terminal. With its ersatz Bernard Herrmann score and pseudo–Rod Serling narration, it became instantly clear that it was director Isaac Ezban’s intention to unlock our minds with the key of an imaginative homage. The lights are kept low, not so much to heighten fright, but to cover for the unquestioned paucity of the set that Ezban puts to exceptional use. What starts with characters scrambling to pin blame on everyone from a pregnant woman to a sick kid up to his neck in breathing tubes leads to a surreal, fully-realized nightmare. Most episodes of The Twilight Zone run 30 minutes, and there’s barely enough material here to justify a feature, but Ezban makes it work. And for a change, actual thought and reasoning went into the pan up to the sky the closes the film. (2015) — Scott Marks
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