Três Palmeiras

Lisbon, a day in winter 1994, between 6:am and 2:pm. A forty-year-old woman is in despair (“Being my age and not knowing anything about children”) during the eight hours before the birth of her first son. Amidst laugh and tears, her companion, a much younger man than she is, tells her stories corresponding to the hours and relieves her from her pain. Tragic, comic, chaotic, hallucinated stories. At the very same moment, at the beginning of the afternoon when the corpse of one of the characters of these stories is taken out of the river, the newborn child lets his first dramatic and emotional screams of life out. This is the way Lisbon is in the morning…