Lucrecia Martel begins the process of filmmaking with a sound; the rest is layered, mysteriously, from there. It might be the mundane sound of music on a car radio, fatally interrupted by the thump of a tire crossing something other than a tarmacked road. It might be the tune of birdsong, swirling together with an oblique dialogue made up of motley accents and dialects. Informed by an oral...