In a dingy motel room that is as hot and clammy as the jungle painted on its walls, a sexual threesome has been arranged to take place. Except that the two men lying in wait are officers from the Central Narcotics Bureau, ready to apprehend their suspect, who is going to show up with crystal meth at any moment. Staff Sergeant Boon is garrulous and relaxed; for him, this is a job just like any other. Inspector Anton, on the other hand, is preoccupied and tense, and is increasingly restless. As the wait for the suspect lengthens, it is apparent Anton has something infinitely more personal at stake. In what appears to be a routine crackdown operation, which walls will come tumbling down, and what thresholds will be crossed? In the film’s tropical swelter, how does one ascertain that everything one sees is not a mirage from a fragmenting mind?

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