On a sun-scorched Greek island, two Sicilian hitmen on a mission are forced to face their violent past and uncertain future when they cross paths with a woman with a vendetta of her own.
Growing up, I spent my days on the street, at parks and beaches, making short action films with my friends, playing with toy guns, cycling around town, and falling in love for the first time. We were young and free, and I try to carry that freedom as much as I can in my stories and my characters.
I grew up renting DVDs with my dad at the local video club. My parents took me to the cinema to watch every kind of movie, but the film that changed everything was "The Hateful Eight" in 2015. I was 15 years old and had already been making short films with my best friends. That day, I decided to take myself seriously.
Since then, I’ve had a soft spot for crime and action cinema. It’s a genre that speaks to me deeply, but it’s also one that’s been fading, especially in Greece.
That’s why I’m making the film I want to see on the big screen. Gritty, emotional, thrilling, and personal.
What draws me to this film is the stories of childhood friendship and nostalgia, like those in Spielberg’s work. I’m equally inspired by the romance and rebellion of Jean-Luc Godard, the poetic sadness of Kieslowski and Theo Angelopoulos, and the explosive violence of John Woo and Park Chan-wook. I also admire the sharp wit and blood-soaked tension of Japanese cinema, like the films of Toshiya Fujita and Masaki Kobayashi.
These are the types of characters I want to bring to the screen: flawed, brutal, unaware of how broken they truly are. I want to see them confront that truth. To test their bonds. To ask what happens when violence is no longer the answer, and friendship is all that remains.
A big thematic part of this film is the fear of death, which I've been struggling with for some time. In reality, it's not the fear of the action or way of dying, but of the unknown. How does it feel? Where do we go? What's the matter with it all?
Late 20s. Italian. A quiet storm behind dark sunglasses. Oliver moves like someone carrying a ghost—measured, watchful, haunted by stillness. His illness has dulled the sharpness of his hitman edge, replacing it with melancholy introspection. Beneath the black suit and cigarette smoke is a boy who once loved gently, now trapped between duty and death. Thoughtful and empathetic, but capable of lethal precision, Oliver is a man trying to make peace with the past before it buries him.
Male, late 20s, Italian. Giorgio is volatile, expressive, and emotionally raw. He covers his wounds with swagger, jokes, and sudden violence. Beneath his bravado is a desperate need for connection.
More impulsive than Oliver and more broken than he admits, Giorgio is loyal to a fault. He’s like a stray dog who found a pack. Torn between tenderness and brutality, Giorgio carries his trauma with the charm of a boy pretending not to care.
Female, early 20s, Greek. A survivor forged in captivity. Anna is quiet but not weak. Beneath her silence is a storm of rage, grief, and defiant will. Once trafficked, now escaped, she moves like a ghost reclaiming her own story. Her presence disrupts everything. She is the moral center of the film—a mirror to the men’s brutality, and a force with more to lose, and more courage to act.
Not Attached
Male, late 50s to early 60s, Italian. A godfather stripped of glamour. Frank is cold, mechanical, and emotionless. He issues commands, not conversation. His evil feels bureaucratic—efficient, orderly, and deeply embedded.
Frank turns children into soldiers and death into a business. He thrives on control, loyalty, and silence. A funeral director by trade and a manipulator by nature, he is the past refusing to stay buried. A puppet master hidden behind veils and empty coffins.
Not Attached
Male, 40s–50s, Greek. A grotesque relic of showbiz and sleaze. Greek Elvis is trapped in a fantasy version of himself, a tragic parody of faded fame. Rhinestones, sweat, and menace define his surface. Beneath it, he is both predator and coward—hiding cruelty behind flamboyant theatrics.
To outsiders, he is a joke. To those under his control, he is a nightmare. His glittering stage persona masks a violent core. He is entertainment turned rotten, a false smile painted on an abuser still desperate for applause.
