Fresh out of prison, a 54-year-old man named Vargas embarks on a rowboat to find his adult daughter who lives in a remote region of Argentina. Story-wise, that’s basically it. For his third movie, Alonso reduces the screenplay to a bare minimum, letting the power of the camera speak for itself, without mediation, and takes the viewer on a sensory journey. Vargas sits, stares, kills an animal, cuts it up. Los muertos doesn’t tell much (figuratively as well as literally, as the film is almost silent), it flows slowly, hypnotically, as does its protagonist through the jungle. Sporadically, Alonso gives the viewer tiny pieces of a vaguely threatening puzzle that jolt the mind awake.