The River Train is a fluid, aesthetically immersive experience — a poetic and philosophical reimagining of Alice in Wonderland through a male adolescent lens. It explores coming-of-age and liberation within a landscape of boundless possibility, where wonder is rendered with tangible artistic authenticity.
Dreams are never one-dimensional. They carry mystery, sometimes flaring with spectacle, other times remaining quiet — just a slow, patient expectation that one day, they might come true. Dreams are where we go to finish what life left undone — hope stacked upon hope, finally flowering. But the real question is not what we dream. It’s whether we dare to wake and build.
Milo is no ordinary Malambo dancer; he is an exceptionally gifted one. His father, who also serves as his mentor, coaches him with near-flawless precision. Together, they move as one, their connection unbroken through every mental exercise and coordinated step. But there’s another world inside Milo — one untouched by dance or discipline. He dreams of leaving, of stepping into the life he watches flicker on movie screens. Buenos Aires calls to him — a city of promise. But permission never comes. The chance never arrives. Then, one ordinary day, he makes a choice. He plans. He sneaks away. And in that single act, he steps into a dream so vast it will surprise him — and rewrite the man he will become.
Picture Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but instead of a single factory, the entire city becomes the wonderland. Now shape it into a philosophical journey, where abstract ideas and dreams unfold like scenes in a living stage play. Lorenzo Ferro (star of El Ángel) and his co-director Lucas A. Vignale construct a narrative where reality and potential exist in symbiotic tension. This duality becomes a form of aspiration, lifting adolescent generations toward discoveries that transcend the limits of imagination. The film’s imagination is of a rare order — uncanny, untamed, spiraling into outcomes that feel utterly unprocessed. And its uniqueness? Absolute. Whether chasing truth, pursuing achievement, surrendering to pleasure, or falling in love, the film leaves its singular mark on everything it touches.
The co-directors move fluidly between arthouse sensibility and the layered emotions of coming-of-age love. Along the way, they scatter warnings that scream “beware what you wish for,” hidden in every step. This feels like a modern relativism where freedom is defined by the absence of judgment and control — yet what it offers can flip into its opposite without warning. Despite staging the film from an adolescent’s point of view, the vastness of its dreamscapes is attuned to human complexities and worldly imbalances beneath the painted veils, affirming that life’s complications may begin at its earliest stages — and when they do, they reshape a person inside and out. Olivia Schachtel’s production design masterfully sustains the film’s ironic mood — a melancholic longing that never tips into despair. Her work evokes Tim Burton’s visual language, but without the gothic shadow — replaced instead by delicate, poetic undercurrents.
Casting Milo Barria as Milo, through whose perspective the narrative unfolds, The River Train (original title: El Tren Fluvial) constructs a lyrical, philosophical exploration of adolescence and liberation. The film’s possibilities cascade like tidal rhythms — unbounded and immersive. This is Alice in Wonderland reimagined for a contemporary sensibility, where the wonders are rendered with tangible artistic finesse.
Panahi, in The White Balloon, turned an Iranian town into a virtual journey, drawing us into its every corner. Here, we experience something similar — a phenomenon disguised as a trip. And I mean phenomenon in the truest sense — a once-in-a-lifetime encounter with the raw, honest complexity of adolescence.
Our team is on the ground at the 76th Berlin International Film Festival, running from February 12th to 22nd, 2026.
