Diez minutos
2004 · 16m · España
Directed by Alberto Ruiz Rojo
Tones: contemplative, tense
Enrique calls the customer service of the company where he has his phone number contracted; Nuria, an operator, answers, and Enrique has only ten minutes to convince her to give him a number dialled from his mobile — on it depends whether he recovers or loses the love of his life.
Picked by Zoe
The scouts
A phone call as high-stakes romance? It's almost too obvious—except Ruiz Rojo refuses to make it cute, keeping the camera locked on Enrique's face while the real action happens in his voice, which is genuinely disorienting and weirdly effective.
Structurally austere and formally committed to its constraint—the ten-minute ticking clock echoes Kieślowski's decimal obsessions, and the economy of space (mostly a single room, a single conversation) recalls the rigorous single-location cinema that prizes restraint over spectacle.
The entire film hinges on Enrique's desperation bleeding through the phone line while his body stays still—it's a performance piece that demands an actor who can convince us that everything is happening in his throat and breath, and whatever Ruiz Rojo drew out of his lead is the film's heartbeat.