Argentinian director Lucrecia Martel stares at a monitor, taking bites from a sandwich. We’re on the set of the historical film Zama, where actors in Spanish colonisers’ wigs pull on cigarettes and are then, moments later, running from menacing-looking Indians covered in war paint. Martel is portrayed as an enigmatic figure, like the heroes of her films. Indeed, her trademark cat eye glasses seem to dominate the documentary’s compact details. At another point in the film, instead of director’s instructions, we hear only the ambient sounds of the jungle. Treading circumspectly, this picture offers a glimpse into the working methods of South America’s most prominent female filmmaker while, instead of the traditional peek behind the scenes, it serves up a restrained, poetic observational piece.