The future is just another past. In an isolated City-Building marked 7, where human knowledge is preserved in the minds of the gifted and time moves in endless loops, a young man reappears again and again, confronting love, rebellion, and the elusive promise of escape. A woman, who meets him each time, becomes the mirror of this repetition, keeping alive the fragile hope that something might finally change.

Director Statement

VOLUME 7 was born from a fascination with time, not as a straight line, but as a closed circuit of memory, identity, and failed revolutions. It’s existential science fiction with a spiral structure, told with a touch of deadpan absurdity and deep emotional undercurrent. Visually and thematically, we were inspired by the cold poetics of Tarkovsky, the looping grief of Resnais, and the sterile bureaucracies of Orwell filtered through a Villeneuve-like stillness. The City-Building is both a place and a metaphor: isolated, decaying, yet obsessed with preservation of knowledge, of order, of the illusion that something is being achieved. Our protagonist, Nemon, is less a character than a recurring phenomenon; he reappears like a question that refuses to be answered. His agelessness isn’t a gift but a burden, one that quietly mocks the systems that try to define meaning or impose order. The film plays with the idea that rebellion, like love, may just be another programmed loop, beautiful, tragic, and ultimately futile. We also wanted to fold in a touch of dry humour, because sometimes your grand escape plan really is made of edible rope. There’s something darkly funny about that, and human, too. This film doesn’t pretend to solve anything. Like memory, it flickers. Like history, it repeats. And like life, it’s ambiguous, on purpose.