The distance between Barcelona and Los Angeles is 10,000km. That’s also the distance between Alex and Sergi (Natalia Tena and David Verdaguer), a good-looking couple forced to endure the curse of prolonged separation. Falling back on daily Skype chats, Alex and Sergi’s digital conversations form the bedrock of 10,000km, a drama about the difficulty of sustaining a relationship—near or far—in the digital age. Connected to each other through nothing but a computer screen, Alex and Sergi’s increasing disassociation reveals the shortcomings of a technology-dependent love. Director Carlos Marques-Marcet attempts to mine their mediated interactions for the stunted character of modern romance itself and while the execution is artful, the viewing experience is about as exciting as a computer restart.
The film opens on a long take of Alex and Sergi having sex. They embrace with a telling combination of familiarity and remove. Marques-Marcet doesn’t cut away as the couple transitions from passion to routine. They get up, brush their teeth and talk about money and their teaching jobs. When Alex checks her email, the atmosphere changes. Actress Natalia Tena evokes a nice sense of excitement and anxiety without saying a word. She’s been invited to live in Los Angeles for an artist’s residency. It’s a dream come true, but it means leaving Sergi. After a tense conversation, the matter is settled. Alex is going to Los Angeles and Sergi is staying in Barcelona.
Watching 10,000km feels a bit like reading a stranger’s emails. The content is overwhelmingly mundane, but there are glimmers of significance. Marques-Marcet inserts himself in the couple’s bedrooms, the most private of spaces, and watches them like a fly on the wall. Alex carries her laptop around her studio apartment, showing Sergi her bed and blank walls. He scratches his beard and tells her to go out and make friends. When Alex prepares for a dinner party, Sergi makes fun of her poorly chopped onions. They banter like a “normal” couple, but their every move conceals an essential absence. For all their willful optimism, Alex and Sergi appear to be hiding a secret sadness about their lives and feelings toward one another.
When Alex initiates a round of Skype sex, the experiment goes awry. Sergi, though hesitant at first, loses himself in the act. Alex makes an effort but she becomes sharply aware of the situation. Disengaged and alone, she watches Sergi masturbate on screen. The isolation at the core of their long-distance relationship becomes apparent. It’s raw, embarrassing and one of the strongest scenes in the film.
Alex is a photographer who makes art out of antennae, Google Street View images and internet company parking lots. She visits a data center in Silicon Valley and tells Sergi, “The last few months of our relationship could be stored there.” In moments like these, Marques-Marcet seems to be making a statement about the ethereal quality of a 21st century relationships. Indeed, Alex and Sergi sometimes seem less like people and more like symbols for the doomed nature of modern romance.
10,000 is a sparse production. There is no music, the only performers are Tena and Verdaguer and the camera rarely leaves their cramped apartments. The film’s unrelenting realism is intriguing but eventually grating. It prevents us from understanding who Alex and Sergi are beyond their plain, lilting conversations. 10,000km is a thoughtfully made film, but it falls short of a great relationship drama. The emotional toll of Alex and Sergi’s separation is clear but their internal drives, motivations and longings are not. 10,000km is a claustrophobic and overlong reminder that the mysteries of love cannot be solved by a high-speed internet connection.
