Leo is good at his job. He’s also miserable. He once wanted to direct documentaries. Now he spends his days turning a toddler’s tantrum into a looping meme.

The final scene: Leo sits in a dark edit bay. On his screen is a 90-minute cut of Sam fixing a tractor. No music. No voiceover. Leo’s finger hovers over the keyboard—the muscle memory to add a jump cut, a zoom, a sting of dramatic music. He closes his eyes. Then he closes the laptop.

“Of course it’s a performance. So is your morning coffee routine you post on Instagram. So is your ‘spontaneous’ laugh on a date. The question isn’t whether it’s real. The question is whether it’s true. This farm is a lie. But the peace you feel? That’s real. And you can’t optimize that.”