Like director Alonso’s Los Muertos, Liverpool is a mostly silent, languid journey of the self. Set on the southernmost tip of Argentina, the film shifts in a career sailor, Farrel, going home after two decades away, to the mountain community to see his mother-assuming she is still alive. He spends the time not physically moving drunk, and when he finally reaches his home, he is welcomed by unexpected news. Alonso’s traditional observational style underscores the banality of Farrel’s life and of his lack of concern for the life he left behind. The simmering images and slow-burning camera allow for the revelation that Farrel’s life (or our lives) will go nowhere from here could relay as morbid for morbid’s sake. Instead, Alonso creates such a subtle tension that the cumulative impact is enormous and the agony of crushing unhappiness is palpable.