Narciso

Paraguay, 1959. Asunción vibrates for the first time with a foreign rhythm. Rock ’n’ roll has found its way onto the radio carrying heat, speed and the faint illusion that the times might suddenly move forward. The city feels younger, looser – briefly out of sync with itself. At the same time, another rhythm settles in. Slower. Heavier. A disciplined pulse that orders gestures, silences voices and redraws the limits of what can be seen or desired. Words like virtue, decency, tradition begin to circulate with unusual force, shaping a shared fear. In this charged atmosphere, the charismatic musician Narciso becomes a symbol of freedom. His youth, his body, his way of inhabiting the night resonate with the music and with the threat it carries. Desire becomes visible. And visibility, dangerous. What once passed unnoticed now attracts attention, suspicion, judgment. As the regime consolidates its power, morality determines the situation – both intimate and oppressive. The future does not disappear all at once; it tightens. It learns to watch itself. Between dance and discipline, a new order takes shape, and an entire generation feels it closing in.