About an androgynous preteen boy, who sits while peeing and has fantasies about aliens with his deformed and badly handicapped teenage neighbor, while his macho brother rapes her, playing Mario Bro's.

Las calles could be regarded as a film about words, about describing and naming, about secrets and confessions, and about language as the matter of memory. In a dialogue between generations, young people are responsible for elaborating the question, and School is the place that tries to come up with a technique for it. In turn, the elderly answer through their stories, which are basically the story of the town. And like the word –which is always a fiction– builds a reality, the film sustains its tone on that intermediate area in which a fictional setting provides the conditions for the pure documentary genre to mark the pace and reach out to people.

Who has ever compared Reservoir Dogs? What are “Open Road” and “New World Disorder”? Why is Harvey Keitel a fairy and how did we all almost become diehard fans of Paul Calderon? Here’s a story about Quentin Tarantino. The director who needs no introduction.