The following description comes from the event organizer.

In the beginning, we see faces—real skin, real smiles, bright, uncertain eyes. Moving around a fluorescent-lighted room, they speak, trading lines from Sophocles’ Antigone, the ancient tragedy of a “frail girl emerging” who tiptoes through a no man’s land and dooms herself out of duty. We are there, in the terrible, electrifying intimacy of high school drama, in the Danish town of Nakskov, surrounded by industry, industrialized agriculture, and a working harbor. These high school students live in dorms and eat kebab, drink beer, and flirt while decoding what their lives will look like—and, just as important, learn from media and society what it is to be men and women. In this liminal place, a young woman with a mysterious smile, Sara (Annika Nuka Mathiassen), forms a fascination with unconventional drama teacher Karen (Sofia Nolso), and this fascination grows into something richer and stranger—a longing for connection, perhaps, or love.

Anything but a conventional coming-of-age story or queer romance, writer-director Anna Sofie Hartmann’s debut feature is more interested in imparting the experience of places, groups, and institutions—sights, sounds, haptics, the texture of life—than with genre tropes. Through careful, steady photographic composition and rich, sometimes strange soundscapes, we are drawn into the poetry of tumbling rocks at a construction site, the boiling of sugar at a factory, the slow passage of a tilled and dull land as seen from a moving train. The film’s aestheticization of the lives and events it depicts is immersive, not decorative. And when Limbo’s characters find and lose the way towards each other, themselves, and a meaningful future, the effect is all the more shocking for being so grounded in place. (Martin Schwartz)