From the outset, Simón Velez's film establishes dramatic tension: after a sudden crescendo, the grainy sounds of nervous electro noise collapse into a bucolic scene of archery between two men, giving way to the texture of film. Sofí, in her twenties, visits a fortune teller. She doesn't promise her anything good—bad moods, indecision, problems—and the mysterious secular accessories the young woman surrounds herself with, such as these colored nightlights and other gadget lamps, won't be enough to counter the prevailing gloom. Signs seem to confirm the bad omens: a fire she films from the Medellín elevated metro, a failed casting in the face of a phlegmatic director. Eschewing any excess of intrigue, the film follows its character's wanderings and advances through ruptures. Thus, this documentary sally, filmed at the flea market, shows Sofí, idle, strolling in the thickness of reality, among the stalls or standing in front of cathode-ray screens, which refer as much to a bygone era as to a fantasy world. In the middle of the film, the notes of Lucio Battisti and the sound of a backfiring motorcycle engine interrupt her idleness, and begin a journey: Sofí clings to Gina's waist, and leaves the city to reach lush nature and virgin waters in which to bathe. A little love is finally imprinted on the expired film. If time seems to stop in this Edenic landscape at the edge of the world, the enchanted interlude suddenly gives way to an accidental drama, whose cruel and unexpected emergence is emphasized by the return of the stinging noise from the beginning. As in his previous films, Simón Vélez handles the tension between deadly tragedy and unashamed sensuality with grace and skill. Once again, the beauty of Los mayores ríos se deslizan bajo tierra lies in exploring this ridge between life and death .