A Skeleton in the Closet (original title: Un Rubio) is an Argentinian romantic drama written and directed by Marco Berger, known for his distinctive style of quiet tension, subtle desire, and intimate character work. Released in 2019, the film blends understated romance with themes of self-discovery, societal expectations, and the risks of vulnerability. Like much of Berger’s work, it unfolds at a deliberate pace, allowing silences, glances, and small gestures to speak louder than words.
The story begins when Manuel (Gastón Re) needs a place to stay after his relationship ends. He moves in with his childhood friend, Santiago (Alfonso Barón), a laid-back and confident man living in a modest apartment. At first, their reunion is easygoing—catching up on old memories, sharing meals, and settling into a comfortable domestic rhythm. But as the days pass, an unspoken attraction begins to grow between them, simmering beneath casual interactions and lingering eye contact.
Manuel is reserved and cautious, carrying the weight of his own insecurities and the pressure of a conservative social environment. Santiago, in contrast, exudes a relaxed masculinity, unaware—or perhaps unwilling to admit—the depth of his own feelings. The title A Skeleton in the Closet plays on the idea of hidden truths, both in the context of sexuality and in the way people hide aspects of themselves to maintain appearances. While neither man initially addresses the attraction outright, their physical and emotional proximity pushes them toward moments of vulnerability that could change their relationship forever.
Marco Berger’s direction is minimalist yet deliberate. Much of the tension is built through framing, body language, and pauses in conversation. Rather than relying on overt declarations of love or dramatic confrontations, the film captures the quiet electricity between the characters—a hand brushing against another, a prolonged gaze, a slight shift in body posture. This restrained approach makes the moments of intimacy more impactful when they finally occur.
The performances are deeply authentic. Gastón Re plays Manuel with a sensitivity that reveals layers of doubt and longing, while Alfonso Barón’s Santiago is effortlessly charismatic, masking his uncertainty with humor and charm. Their on-screen chemistry feels organic, and the slow build of attraction mirrors the hesitation and fear that can accompany same-sex relationships in environments where acceptance is not guaranteed.
Cinematographically, the film favors soft, natural lighting and close framing, which create an intimate, almost voyeuristic atmosphere. Scenes often linger longer than expected, allowing the viewer to observe subtleties in expression and movement. The soundtrack is minimal, letting ambient sounds—like footsteps, clinking glasses, or the hum of a quiet room—enhance the sense of realism.
Ultimately, A Skeleton in the Closet is not just a romance; it is a story about identity, courage, and the quiet ways relationships evolve when two people are willing—or forced—to confront their true feelings. It challenges the notion that love stories must be loud or filled with grand gestures, instead finding beauty in the pauses, the uncertainties, and the moments of quiet connection. For audiences willing to immerse themselves in its slow rhythm, the film offers a touching, authentic exploration of intimacy and self-acceptance.
