Aptly for a film whose title character doesn’t even exist, Josefina is a film where silences speak loudest. Javier Marco’s debut feature is drama turned down to the most gentle simmer; one that could be mistaken for inertia if not for the two subtly compelling performances at its core.
Juan (Roberto Álamo) is a lonely prison guard whose life is defined by routine. One morning his car fails to start so he’s takes a bus to work. On the same bus is Berta (Emma Suárez), who is dutifully visiting her son Sergio (Miguel Bernardeau), fulfilling her own routine. Juan is instantly attracted to her, and over a few days, the pair begin to strike up a conversation. Not wishing to say he works at the prison, he claims that he has a daughter named Josefina who is an inmate in the women’s wing. As the two damaged souls get tentatively closer, Juan’s secret becomes harder to keep.
Restraint appears to be Marco’s mantra. Nothing about Josefina is demonstrative or florid. Much time is spent on the daily, silent rhythms of Juan and Berta as they go about their day. In itself, there’s a quiet eloquence that brings to mind the work of Chantal Ackerman, and both Suárez and Álamo do so much to show their characters own personal cages as they conduct their business. Even when they begin to form their bond, silence dominates. It’s as if they’ve forgotten how to use language, or afraid to scare the other person off like a timid rodent.
Marco, directing a screenplay from Belén Sánchez-Arévalo, is so committed to his documentary realist approach that it goes a long way to covering some contrivances in the storytelling. In hands less committed to a particular vision it would risk giving way to melodrama and the standard beats of a billion romances. In truth though, an injection of some extra dynamism would have been somewhat welcome, even though it’s perversely admirable that such easy pleasures are resisted.
A film that really needs to be relaxed into, Josefina requires some intensive reading between the lines. There are some ambiguities in the script, particularly involving Sergio and a female inmate at the prison that could have been teased out for some additional intrigue, but otherwise Marco refuses to adjust the film’s pace to suit expectations. The result is almost an anti-drama; a narrative so drenched in melancholy and the existential stasis that comes with it that if often feels painful. That’s obviously the point, and as such it’s an unqualified success. That does not however equate to the most life-affirming viewing experience, even though there are pinpricks of hope left to dapple the darkness.
Screening as part of Edinburgh Spanish Film Festival @Filmhouse, Edinburgh Wed 12 Oct 2022
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