The Argentinian director Alexis Dos Santos has devised a film that, to my mind, pulls off one of the most difficult tricks imaginable: it creates a drifting, ambling, no-particular-place-to-go feel, a meandering quality that I found ­engaging.

Axl, played by Fernando Tielve, is a 20-year-old Spanish guy who is in London looking for an ­English father who vanished when he was just a baby. Déborah François is Vera, a young ­Belgian woman who is pursuing a failed romance. Axl and Vera live in a transient worlds of squats and hostels; they are intensely young, displaying a gloriously insouciant indifference to, and even unawareness of, the future – a condition intensified by an uncertain grip on the present and the past. Axl loves to get wasted in the evenings, and the next morning can remember nothing of what has happened: he is tragically ignorant of the fact that he is an alcoholic in the making, and that his blearily out-of-it style won't be ­attractive for very long. The stories of both Vera and Axl are ­incidentally very sexy – and ­unpuritanical movies that show ­explicit sex without disaster as its ­inevitable sequel are always to be ­encouraged. I very much liked Vera's anxious memory of how she once went into a Hampton Court-type maze with her boyfriend and through an extraordinary fluke managed to get out in just over a minute while he, fuming, took hours. The unhappy wrong turns her life has taken since then lead her to worry that she used up her entire life's share of luck in that one afternoon. An easy-going, garrulous, likable piece.