Like a word about to be discovered but never heard, Jeròmino Atehortùa's Una película (secreta) peels back the layers of a moving archive of silent Colombian cinema. A kind of mystery seems to live under each of the images, and as the film progresses, a secret language draws a labyrinth: each sequence is a distorted repetition of the previous one, a deformed extremity of a hidden language that unveils those drives and manias of the archive.
