On n’est pas des barbares

Linda and Paul have just moved in. Sporty and gluten-free, they love organic juices and cycling, and they contrast with their more traditional neighbors, Barbara and Mario, who love aperitifs, wine, chips and big TVs.
Everything seems to oppose them, except for the proximity of their apartments.

One morning, Paul knocked on Mario's door, visibly annoyed. He said a stranger had knocked on his door in the middle of the night: soaking wet, trembling, looking for help. Suspicious, Paul refused to open the door, convinced that these "people" were exaggerating, that they were manipulating the compassion of others so that people would open the door out of pity.

Barbara and Mario did the opposite: they opened the door. They let him in.

We never see this man. Yet, he becomes the focal point of every conversation. His appearance—or absence—sows doubt, fuels tensions, and sparks debate. He becomes a reflection of their fears, their humanity, and their guilt.