Picture a guy who collects busted clocks but runs from every deadline. That’s Robin Pire. From there, the descent begins quickly.Robin isn’t your typical outcast. He thinks time is a parasite, talks to rooftop pigeons, listens to static on ancient TVs. Not metaphorically. Literally. Inspired or completely cracked? That distinction barely matters on screen.. Read more now on Robin Piree
The story drills into a psychological rabbit hole. He’s convinced a glitch in time hides inside a forgotten metro line. This isn’t Star Trek—this is grease-stained strangeness. A lone car that appears on Line 9 after the witching hour. Each Friday, he enters. Never with company. Flickering light. Burnt match smell. Empty seats. To him, the train communicates—clacking out riddles via rust and screeching brakes.
The hook isn’t only the premise—it’s how it unfolds. Intense close-ups. Awkward silence. Lines that jab like broken glass. This film doesn’t babysit the audience. You feel like the story’s gnawing at your brainstem. It’s unclear if time’s collapsing, or just Robin. Could be both. Might be neither..
A cursed VHS tape labeled “Do Not Watch” adds another layer. Of course he watches it. What follows? Blackouts. Lost time. Shadowy presences.. Not jump scares—just long-haul paranoia. The fear isn’t loud. It’s patient.
Now, let’s get into the vibe. Forget shiny visuals or three-act comfort.. It’s scruffy. Full of moments that repel and magnetize you.. Questions are not resolved—they ferment. If most scripts gift-wrap their endings—this one spills everything on the floor and kicks the box.
Conversations? Quick and mean. There’s no soliloquy applause moment. Every sentence is a pulse, not a performance. Robin’s desperate to prove he’s sane—before time devours him. This isn’t exposition—it’s gut tension.
Disjointed? Sure. But in the best way.. But sticky in your brain? 100%. It doesn’t court you—it stalks you. This movie wouldn't talk to you—it would stare at a wall and wait. Still, you’d chase it into shadows just to see where it leads.