The Road Less Traveled: Isaac Ezban’s ‘Delivery’ and the Borders of Time and Identity
There’s something profoundly human about the idea of a man stealing a truck to finish listening to his father’s old cassettes. It’s not just a plot point—it’s a metaphor for the lengths we’ll go to hold onto the past, even when it’s slipping through our fingers. Isaac Ezban’s upcoming film, Delivery, is being billed as a time-travel sci-fi road movie, but personally, I think it’s so much more than that. It’s a meditation on the borders we build—both physical and emotional—and the ways we try to transcend them.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Ezban uses the Mexico-U.S. border as a backdrop for a story that’s fundamentally about dislocation. Adan, the protagonist, is a man who’s spent decades driving the same routes, listening to the same tapes, living in a loop of his own making. When he’s fired, his decision to steal the truck isn’t just an act of rebellion—it’s a desperate attempt to reclaim control over a life that’s been defined by routine. From my perspective, this speaks to a universal fear: what happens when the structures we rely on crumble?
One thing that immediately stands out is the introduction of Nokia, the young teenager abandoned in a cartel-controlled border town. Her story mirrors Adan’s in ways that are both poignant and unsettling. Both are haunted by the past—Adan by his father’s cassettes, Nokia by her family’s tapes—and both are chasing a future that feels just out of reach. What many people don’t realize is that the border isn’t just a physical divide; it’s a psychological one, too. Ezban seems to be asking: Can we ever truly cross the borders we’ve built within ourselves?
If you take a step back and think about it, the time-travel element isn’t just a sci-fi gimmick. It’s a tool to explore the paradoxes of existence. Adan is a man who ‘never belonged to his own time,’ and that’s a sentiment that resonates deeply in an age where nostalgia and progress are constantly at war. This raises a deeper question: Are we all, in some way, time travelers, stuck between the memories we cherish and the futures we fear?
A detail that I find especially interesting is Ezban’s description of Delivery as a story about ‘contrasts.’ Planning versus spontaneity, routine versus adventure, solitude versus connection—these are the tensions that define not just Adan’s journey, but the human experience itself. What this really suggests is that life is a series of choices, each one a border we must decide whether to cross.
What’s also striking is the film’s production journey. With 40% funding secured through Mexico’s Eficine tax incentive, Delivery is a testament to the challenges of bringing ambitious stories to life. Ezban’s passion for the project is palpable—he calls it his ‘most personal’ work yet—and that authenticity is what makes it compelling. In an industry often dominated by formulaic blockbusters, a film that dares to explore the complexities of time, identity, and connection feels like a breath of fresh air.
From a broader perspective, Delivery is part of a growing trend in cinema that blends genre elements with deeply personal narratives. Think of films like Arrival or Interstellar, where sci-fi serves as a vehicle for exploring existential questions. But Ezban’s approach feels uniquely grounded, rooted in the specific cultural and geographical context of the Mexico-U.S. border. This isn’t just a story about time travel—it’s a story about what it means to be human in a world that’s constantly changing.
In my opinion, the true brilliance of Delivery lies in its ability to make the abstract tangible. Time travel, borders, identity—these are big, abstract concepts, but Ezban anchors them in the intimate details of Adan and Nokia’s lives. The cassettes, the truck, the endless highway—these aren’t just props; they’re symbols of the ways we try to make sense of our place in the world.
As we await the film’s production in 2027, I can’t help but wonder: What borders are we all trying to cross? And what will we find on the other side? Delivery doesn’t promise easy answers, but it does promise a journey worth taking. Personally, I’m here for it—not just as a film, but as a reflection of the human condition. After all, aren’t we all just driving down our own endless highways, searching for something we can’t quite name?
