Summary
A sun-dappled California bungalow, its stucco blushing like a reluctant bride, is surrendered by Snub and his porcelain-delicate spouse to a pair of brisk strangers who stride in as though the deed already bears their names. The transaction, sealed with a jaunty handshake and a fluttering escrow receipt, feels at first like a vaudeville lark: furniture waltzes out the door, curtains pirouette from the rods, and the departing couple whistle past the yard’s wilting roses. Yet the city’s housing lattice—tight as a snare drum—snaps shut behind them. Every ‘For Rent’ sign turns out to be a mirage; every furnished room vaporizes the instant they reach for the knob. Their savings, once as plump as a featherbed, hemorrhage coins like a slot machine in reverse. At dusk they find themselves on the bristling edge of a municipal park, erecting a makeshift canvas lean-to between two disapproving palm trees. Night after night the tent mutates: a blanket becomes a wall, a bread crate morphs into a writing desk, a pocket mirror doubles as a midnight moon. Civilization’s hum recedes into cricket static; hunger sharpens their sight until even the glow of a distant neon sign feels like a personal taunt. Through slapstick, savage irony, and close-ups that linger on Marie Mosquini’s eyes—two opalescent question marks—the film charts the slow inversion of homeowner into houseless, of host into supplicant, until property itself becomes a cruelly elastic joke whose punchline keeps stretching beyond the horizon.
Synopsis
Snub and his wife give up their bungalow and allow another couple to move in. Then it develops that they can't find another home, and must live in an improvised tent.
Director
Cast
