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Beauty Arena stages a pageant where trophies, sequined lips, neon lashes and pixel-heavy faces occupy the same floor as a Louis Vuitton bag overloaded with charms, mascots, plastic trinkets and memories that cling to its handles as if they had been waiting for this arena to exist. Figures arrive dressed in jerseys, latex stockings, leather belts, ribbons, wigs and butterfly tattoos that glitter under studio light, a cast that parades and multiplies while the camera drifts across them without pause. Poses stretch into new poses, every gesture exaggerated until it spills over, every costume layered until it swallows the screen, a sequence that keeps producing its own energy. Artificial intelligence feeds this spectacle with an endless appetite, stitching fragments into new surfaces, melting shadows, saturating colors, pushing portraits beyond recognition and yet insisting on display. The figures remain inside this current, performing, collapsing, reforming, always illuminated, always held in the rhythm of a stage that refuses to slow down.

Scenes pile up: nails extended into sculptures of plastic and resin, eyelashes that beat louder than the soundtrack, a teddy bear recycled as prop, pillow, fetish, guardian, a body stretched across the floor wrapped in metallic strings, lips painted into shining ornaments. Beauty here turns restless, spilling into code, fabric, gloss and skin, a generator of endless decoration. Beauty Arena moves forward without conclusion, its choreography looping through exaggeration and repetition, its voices circling inside a synthetic echo, its images flashing until the eyes surrender. The film unfolds as parade and archive, arena and spectacle, a flow of beauty without exit, a flood of glittering surfaces that refuses to fade.