My Year of Rest and Relaxation meets Madame Bovary.
Marisa is in her thirties, and she’s sick of her job. The only way she can cope with the trials and tribulations of life working for a PR agency is by numbing her senses with a cocktail of Valium and Youtube videos, and the only reason she turns up to the office is to save money on air con in Madrid’s sweltering August heat. Marisa hates work, but it’s the only thing that guarantees a paycheck to cover her rent and her impulsive spending.
During the week before a team-building trip organised by the company, Marisa’s anxiety starts to spiral out of control. The thought of spending an entire weekend with her co-workers is unbearable, triggering the long-buried memory of a traumatic event in the office which returns to torment her. As the days pass, cracks and fissures begin to appear in her carefully crafted office persona, threatening to send her whole life into turmoil.
‘Discontent is the feeling of being hopelessly adrift, knowing deep down that there must be more to life, but without having the strength or the tools to change direction. When we’re bone-tired, or worse, popping pills, we hope or dream that something will change even though nothing does, and the days roll by on the daily commute, in the queue for the supermarket, in preparing lunch for the next day or when we’re scrolling on social media.’
A reflection on loneliness and the desperate need for real life connection, about the masks we wear in public and finding that small ray of hope that stops you from throwing yourself under a bus on a Monday morning.