The camera calmly explores the holes and fissures of a cliff face, the traces of the ocean. The austere landscape seems to have fallen out of time. Only a few decades ago, fishermen threw their trap baskets into the water from here. Today, the sea around Malta has long been fished dry. Punta, a moustachioed islander, wants to have one more go.
A weir is woven from the hairs of a horsetail, a forgotten craft is demonstrated. An intercut Super 8 film documents the diversity of marine life in the past; its grainy images radiate something irretrievable. An octopus curls around a foot, a jellyfish floats through the eternal blue. Punta gazes melancholically at the sea, far beneath him the waves are crashing against the rock as they have always done. And yet the sight is deceptive, because he and we know that no fish will ever stray into his weir. The rough singing of a woman’s voice begins.