‘Waiting’
Franco F. Javier Gutiérrez directs a film that stands as a vivid example of a Spanish genre project pushing beyond festival applause toward a lasting audience impression. The ensemble includes Víctor Clavijo, Ruth Díaz, Pedro Casablanc, and Luis Callejo, and the work arrived in 2023 with a wave of festival appearances that underscored its sturdy craft and unabashed romanticism for old-school horror and fantasy textures. The film’s early momentum recalls the momentum of Standout Spanish genre entries that travel from Sitges and similar spaces to more general audiences, inviting discussions about how drama, myth, and fear can be braided into a single cinematic voice. These festival life signs are not merely trophies; they signal a film that aims to endure rather than vanish after the final credit roll, a goal shared by several contemporary Iberian productions that linger in viewers’ memories long after the screenings end.
Set in a mountain town somewhere in Andalusia during the 1970s, Waiting threads a tragedy around the farm caretaker at its center, a role brought to life by Víctor Clavijo. The film treats its setting with a tactile, almost dusty reverence: sun-baked walls, narrow streets, the scent of earth and livestock, and a social fabric that feels both intimate and claustrophobic. The opening sequence wears its influences with a quiet pride, signaling a deliberate homage to the tactile realism of classic regional cinema while also carving a path toward more fantastical terrain. The initial pacing leans toward measured, observational rhythms that might feel rigid at first, yet this very discipline becomes a key engine as the narrative deepens and the supernatural elements begin to surface with unsettling clarity.
Gutiérrez, who co-wrote the script, demonstrates a confident hand as the story shifts from stark realism to fevered imagination. The director’s choices in framing, pacing, and staging reveal a filmmaker who understands the balance between the concrete details of rural life and the intangible terror that haunts them. The texture work—grainy film stock, practical effects, and a palette that favors earth tones with glints of eerie illumination—brings a sense of tactile danger to the screen. It is in these moments that Waiting reveals its core strength: a willingness to let fear emerge from the ordinary rather than forcing it through loud, obvious shocks. Viewers who crave atmosphere will find a rewarding atmosphere-heavy experience that rewards patience and attention.
The cast ensemble strengthens the film’s emotional spine. Ruth Díaz and Pedro Casablanc appear as characters whose motivations remain partly veiled, inviting viewers to read between the lines and watch how personal history inform present peril. Luis Callejo contributes a measured cadence that helps anchor the escalating tension, ensuring the emotional stakes stay credible even as supernatural questions multiply. The performances are not showy; they operate like quiet gears turning under the surface, producing a sense that what is at stake is not simply fear, but a fragile sense of community, memory, and responsibility in a world that grows increasingly uncertain. This is where Waiting earns its place in conversations alongside other Spanish titles that blend regional specificity with genre craft, offering a distinct voice within the broader European horror and fantasy landscape.
As the tragedy unfolds, the film broadens from a tightly focused character study into a larger meditation on fate and resilience. The script works through revelations that gradually illuminate a mythic logic underpinning the events, a logic that feels inevitable once it takes hold. The technical team delivers a convincing sense of otherworldliness without abandoning the film’s grounded base. Scenes of abrupt, spectral intrusion are tempered by the harsh realities of rural life, creating a dissonant harmony that lingers with the viewer. In this way Waiting joins a lineage of Iberian thrillers that use the landscape not just as backdrop but as a character that shapes outcomes and tests the limits of what the community is willing to endure.
From a storytelling standpoint, the film excels when it leverages its strong sense of place to heighten suspense and to root fantastical turns in emotional truth. The balance between speculative elements and human stakes is carefully calibrated, ensuring the horror never floats away from the ground of everyday life. The result is a film that can shift gears—from intimate, almost documentary-like scenes to sequences of uncanny, dream-like intensity—without losing its core purpose or the audience’s incredulity. For fans of regional cinema that uses its locale to probe universal fears, Waiting offers a thoughtful, ambitious option that invites repeated viewings and discussion among cinephiles who appreciate how genre can be a vehicle for social and psychological insight. The film’s willingness to explore the spiritual dimensions of tragedy, the fear of the unknown, and the resilience required to face it marks it as a noteworthy entry in contemporary Spanish cinema and a compelling choice for festival programs looking to showcase a blend of cultural specificity and universal dread.