Credits: Elena Trape
Cast: Laia Costa, Daniel Pérez Prado and Aina Clotet
Year: 2023
★★★
The film centers on the character known as Els Encantats, a woman navigating the upheaval of a painful separation while facing the hardest task of all—being apart from her daughter during a period that should be shared with the child’s father. The story’s emotional core is built not through loud confession, but through a quiet, almost whispering ache. Co-written with Miguel Ibáñez Monroy, Elena Trape takes two bold moves that shape the entire viewing experience. First, she abandons the linear, step-by-step depiction of grief in favor of a nonlinear approach that reveals the pain in small, almost imperceptible fragments. The result is a film that invites the audience to read between the lines, to sense the loss before it is explicitly stated, and to feel the somber rhythm that follows every unspoken thought. The second bold choice is to push the emotional terrain beyond conventional boundaries. The narrative often hides its most intimate truths in visual texture and physical humor, even venturing into scatological touches, which read as a stark reminder that human sorrow can coexist with absurdity and the body’s unguarded reactions.
This is a daring binary experiment. The strict control over narration, coupled with the protagonist’s evasive posture, can leave the pace feeling rigid at moments. Yet the movie rewards patience with luminous passages where memory returns in tangible, almost tactile ways. The way the film maps emotional recollection across places, the delicate exchanges with a neighbor, and the final, resonant monologue all contribute to moments of genuine beauty. Even when the tonal shifts feel risky or uneven, the willingness to push the boundaries of storytelling remains compelling and memorable. It’s a choice that signals a preference for bold, uncomfortable honesty over safe, conventional storytelling.
Viewed through a Canadian or American lens, the film resonates with universal questions about family bonds, the fragility of intimate relationships, and the way memory shapes present choices. The performances—especially the central performance by Costa—offer a rawness that anchors the film’s more experimental impulses. The cinematography crafts a mood that lingers after scenes end: light filtering through windows, quiet streets that become stage sets for inner turmoil, and a sound design that amplifies the silences that say more than dialogue. The result is not merely a personal drama; it becomes a meditation on how individuals negotiate separation, responsibility, and the uncertain terrain of love as time passes. This approach invites viewers to reflect on their own experiences of loss and resilience, making the film feel intimate yet expansive at once.
In its execution, Els Encantats walks a line between restraint and risk. The narration’s over-control can occasionally feel too precise, as if the filmmakers are steering the viewer toward a particular interpretation. Still, the film’s deliberate pacing allows for moments of revelation that reward attentive watching. The balance between tenderness and humor—between memory and present reality—creates a texture that many discerning audiences will find deeply affecting. Overall, the project stands out not for a flawless finish, but for its boldness and its insistence that storytelling can be a living, breathing conversation with uncertainty. It is the kind of film that lingers in the mind, inviting discussion about how cinema can chart grief without ever surrendering to predictability.