The sellers are characters from a hundred films. A film reviewer with ink-stained fingers argues with a distributor hawking restored classics. A group of cinephiles barter recommendations like coins: “You must see the rooftop chase in that eastern noir—watch the light between the trains.” An immigrant filmmaker runs a stall pinned with festival laurels no one can pronounce, yet people line up for her fifteen-minute piece about a pigeon that learns to translate radio static into elegies.