Pedro Marques

From Sunday to Sunday, the Arcozelo football field is battered by the North wind. The lawn has to be swept and lots of clothes washed. - The boys are coming! - The two equipment managers, São and Cunha, know the name of the little players. Everyone is taken care of and the socks drying on the goals are also to be lent.

We stare at mirrors as if 'image' was a weapon of self-defense. At night, I hide in actors' dressing rooms for a working class experience. By day, I face an old theatre being razed to the ground, making way for a parking lot. Graffitis have curtains, the nose cap of an umbrella arises from a mount of sand. Oh, Happy Days! No need to stage anything! The bulldozer is a dinosaur whose teeth and gracious neck swings by a EU flag. In the boxes, we await the audience. Sometimes, nobody comes. Lost in a symbolic show of reality, I can only watch the world's end because all the endangered species perform and a reflecting labyrinth of life stories breaks through the glass of the Economic Eating Machine. Even when the sky is falling, theatre will always happen. So, choose the right place.

A spectacular view of the world as seen from Armando and Maria's control tower, eight floors up from the river Douro. A comic and probing portrait of an old Portuguese couple whose private life has remained permeable to the modern world.