May 23, 2025

Taekwondo (2016): A Sun-Soaked Exploration of Desire, Brotherhood, and the Boundaries We Fear to Cross

There are films that scream with drama and urgency. And then there are those that whisper — slowly, intimately — drawing you into their quiet world where glances speak louder than words and the tension lies not in action, but in everything that remains unsaid. Taekwondo (2016), directed by Marco Berger and Martín Farina, belongs to the latter. It doesn’t chase plot twists or grand climaxes. Instead, it lingers in the golden haze of summer afternoons, sculpting a world where male bonding brushes dangerously close to desire, and the lines between platonic and erotic blur like sweat on sunburned skin.

Set almost entirely within a single house during a lazy vacation among friends, Taekwondo feels less like watching a movie and more like being quietly invited into a secret. It seduces without spectacle, nudges without naming, and invites the viewer to lean in close — because the real story is always just beneath the surface.

Plot Summary
Fernando, a soft-spoken man in his late twenties, invites Martín — a quiet, more reserved friend from his Taekwondo class — to join a group of male friends for a week-long summer getaway at a suburban house. What seems like a casual invitation is, in fact, a carefully crafted opportunity. Fernando is gay, and while he hasn’t shared that with his straight friends, he’s nursing a quiet fascination with Martín.

At first, Martín seems like the outsider — surrounded by loud, hyper-masculine energy, teasing jokes, shirtless camaraderie, and casual homoeroticism that the group treats as innocent banter. But as the days pass, a subtle intimacy begins to grow between Fernando and Martín. Their conversations become deeper, their glances linger longer, and the physical proximity between them shifts from accidental to electric.

The plot doesn’t race. Instead, it breathes. Through dips in the pool, shared drinks, lazy games, and late-night talks, the film slowly constructs an atmosphere where the unsaid becomes heavy and potent. What begins as a “bro vacation” gently transforms into a nuanced exploration of male intimacy, unspoken attraction, and the deep vulnerability of wanting something — or someone — you’re not sure you’re allowed to want.

Artistic Analysis
The film’s artistry lies in its restraint. Marco Berger’s signature camera work is both voyeuristic and tender, often focusing on bodies in stillness — a thigh brushing another, a hand hanging from a couch, a gaze held just a second too long. Every frame feels composed with intention, as if the lens itself is questioning the boundaries of intimacy.

The house, bathed in natural light, becomes a character of its own: open yet closed, spacious yet claustrophobic. The long, slow takes force the viewer to observe, to wait, to feel. There’s a sensuality in the mundanity — a power in the way silence fills the room when someone leaves.

And then there’s the use of music — or more precisely, the lack of it. Taekwondo relies on ambient sound: laughter in another room, the splash of water, the hiss of a beer being opened. It grounds the film in a hyper-realism that feels both vulnerable and immersive, as if we too are lying on the sofa, pretending not to notice who’s watching whom.

Performances
Gabriel Epstein as Fernando delivers a performance rooted in stillness and inner tension. He never announces his feelings — he doesn’t need to. His subtle expressions, his watchful eyes, the delicate hesitation in his body language speak volumes. Epstein makes us ache with him, feel the courage it takes just to be close to someone you secretly long for.

Lucas Papa, playing Martín, brings a complex softness to a character caught in a quiet storm. He is neither overtly curious nor clearly oblivious. Instead, he walks a fine line of emotional ambiguity that feels entirely real. We don’t always know what he’s thinking — and that’s the beauty of it. The dynamic between the two is electric in its understatement. The chemistry crackles in the pauses, in the near-touches, in the acts of vulnerability that neither dares name.

The rest of the cast, a lively ensemble of boisterous male friends, creates the social backdrop that makes the central tension even sharper. Their constant masculine presence — sometimes open, sometimes oblivious — builds the perfect stage for the subtler, riskier drama that unfolds underneath.

Emotional Impact
At its core, Taekwondo is a film about what we fear to say aloud. About how love and attraction can sprout quietly, patiently, between gestures of friendship. It captures that uniquely queer experience of being in a space that is open, yet never quite safe — where every word is measured, every touch considered.

There’s a specific ache that comes from recognizing yourself in the film’s silences. Anyone who has ever wanted someone they couldn’t name, who has lived in the liminal space between friendship and longing, will feel deeply seen here. It’s not about heartbreak. It’s about the risk of opening the door — and not knowing whether the other person will step through.

Moments that might seem small — an unexpected gaze, a shared cigarette, a conversation that skirts too close to truth — carry emotional weight that hits long after the scene ends. The final act doesn’t explode with revelation, but instead offers something more haunting: the recognition that sometimes, almost is enough to change everything.

Tone & Rhythm
The film pulses with stillness. Its rhythm is unhurried, like a hot summer afternoon that stretches endlessly, where time feels warped by sunlight and tension. That slow pace is deliberate — it mirrors the emotional paralysis of its characters, the way desire hesitates before it acts.

The tone is sensual without being explicit, romantic without being romanticized. It’s honest. It trusts the viewer to feel, to infer, to connect the emotional dots without being led by the hand. There’s no manipulation here — only presence. The film doesn’t scream. It whispers. And that whisper lingers.

Final Thoughts
Taekwondo is not just a queer film. It’s a deeply human one. It speaks to the ache of attraction, the quiet violence of repression, and the beauty of longing — not for grand love stories, but for simple, fleeting moments of connection.

In a world that often demands declarations and labels, Taekwondo stands firm in its ambiguity. It understands that some of the most powerful relationships in our lives are never made official. They live in memory, in heartbeat, in the questions that were never answered.

With its delicate cinematography, restrained direction, and emotionally honest performances, Taekwondo is a masterclass in slow-burning intimacy. It leaves you breathless not because it shocks, but because it sees you — quietly, clearly, and without judgment.

And sometimes, that kind of recognition is the most radical thing a film can offer.