Jamón Jamón (1992)

A guy in a yellow shirt stands next to a pug inside a dim room, face close to the camera. Outside, two athletic men in their 30s hang by a car under a gas station canopy, orange sky above, one leaning on the fender like he’s waiting. Inside another room, a woman with curly brown hair sits on a couch, wearing a long necklace, shadows cutting across her face. Her hands fill the frame later — red nail polish, gold rings, moving slow, fingers flexing. A separate shot shows a man in his 40s with glasses sitting near a paper dog, walls dark, light low. No interaction between any of them. Each scene feels isolated, like random moments stitched together. The woman’s hand close-up stands out — deliberate, quiet, almost like a fetish focus. Camera stays steady, wide or medium shots mostly, nothing shaky or rushed. Lighting leans orange and soft throughout, gives it a late evening vibe even indoors.