Moacir Dos Santos came from Brazil almost three decades ago; by now he is already “Brazilian and Argentinean”, as he says to a (semi) countryman in the Brazilian Embassy in Buenos Aires. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, because before he could hang out with the elite Moacir first had to go through a long hell.

Unemployed and taken by excess, he was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and committed to the Borda psychiatric hospital, where he spent most of his Buenos Aires-based life. There, he met Lipgot, who was working on another documentary, and that’s the beginning of Moacir’s extraordinary story, which gives plenty of meaning to the vague expression “the healing power of music”.

An outdoor patient at age 65, Moacir plans to leave the darkness behind by making an album with his own songs, which were lost for many years, just like he was. The wise supervision of crooner Sergio Pángaro guarantees the venture’s happy ending, literally: you have to see the joyful music clip featured in the end credits, a party with the very contagious samba rhythm Moacir carries in his blood and which –everyone should know– he sings and dances like no one else.