An elderly couple sits side by side on high school bleachers—grey-haired, composed, and gently smiling—as a death metal band erupts in front of them. Around them, teenagers are moshing in full chaos, limbs flailing, sound blaring. But the couple remains still, unfazed, like they’re attending a school recital.

The contrast is almost too perfect: serenity in the face of mayhem. You begin to wonder—are they deeply Zen? Hard of hearing? Detached by age, or just completely in their own world? Maybe it’s dementia. Maybe it’s peace.

"deth metal" is a portrait of emotional dissonance. A meditation on what it means to witness noise without reacting. It sits somewhere between documentary and dream—where the line between presence and absence gets beautifully blurry.