Distrust of people, in this way, in general, is quite assumed and is understood to be almost necessary. Distrusting a close relative may be more surprising but no less common. When a dear relative gets too close to get to know us better, it can be not only tender but also an uncomfortable act, perhaps even suspicious. This complexity of emotions seems to hover around Baptiste, the young autistic Asperger's boy protagonist of this film, every time his sister Chloé approaches. She, a filmmaker at the Fresnoy-Studio National des Arts Contemporains, tries to connect with what her brother writes, thinks and feels, but he is absent. It is the wolves, and not the humans, with whom Baptiste seems to connect the most. Wolves, misunderstood, reserved, literary animals. He watches them at dusk. He sees them walking calmly. Cut, and it is already night and he is still watching them. And they him. Presences that accept each other, recognize each other and do not ask for permission to live. A coexistence whose silence is barely broken with words that cost a battle to say, with whispers that create eternal bonds, like prisoners in a perpetual prison who have no way to see each other but can talk quietly, within the walls, to share joys and hardships. Shot with elegant simplicity, the film assumes that initial distance between siblings and gives us in return a dazzling visual proposal that goes from the intimate to the abstract, understanding well that Baptiste inhabits another universe and that we must go there too. FERNANDO VÍLCHEZ