Livia DeMartini’s ‘A House and the Space Between Us’ is an unfiltered, deeply personal time capsule – an artifact of youth, friendship, and fleeting moments that would have otherwise dissolved into memory. Shot on 8mm film during her senior year of college, the documentary plays like a love letter to a particular time, a particular place, and a group of people who once felt inseparable.
Set entirely within the house she shares with her flatmates and friends, the film unfolds with the intimacy of a found diary. DeMartini captures her roommates, her ex-boyfriend, and herself in raw, unscripted moments – silly, charming, sometimes profound, but always real. There’s no pretense here. Conversations about boys, health, life advice, and the sheer velocity of youth flow freely, giving the film a “fly-on-the-wall” quality. It’s voyeuristic but never invasive, observational but never detached. DeMartini isn’t just documenting; she’s living in these moments while also preserving them.
Through on-screen text, DeMartini adds her own reflections, transforming the footage into more than just a nostalgic home video. She’s “speaking” directly to us – revealing what’s left unsaid in the clips, what’s been learned since, and what’s been lost to time. It’s a format that feels confessional, almost dreamlike, yet utterly relatable.
The cinematography is intentionally rough – grainy, shaky, unconcerned with conventional polish. But that’s precisely the point. This isn’t about aesthetics – it’s about truth. The imperfect visuals heighten the film’s authenticity, making it feel more like a memory unfolding in real time rather than a documentary we’re passively watching.
By the end, we learn where everyone is now – how quickly life moves, how people scatter, how moments once so urgent become distant. ‘A House and the Space Between Us’ is deeply personal yet universally resonant. It’s a beautifully raw snapshot of youth.
