El llanto

Producing something that comes from fragments of other cinematic creations is not always so easy. Often ideas, strategies and even narrative clichés borrowed from other films may be present, but the result may be poor and forgettable. So knowing how to bring together and assemble fragments of the genre's history is important to avoid the obvious and yet another film that will go unnoticed both in theaters and on streaming services.

Spanish director Pedro Martín-Calero seems to have been inspired by some films of the genre to direct The Cry of Evil (El Llanto, 2024). Examples: By bringing something that insistently pursues the characters, we can remember the tension that was the excellent It Follows (2014). Andrea and Camila's constant filming during the narrative refers to the Found Footage culture (we know very well what it is like to be apprehensive that something will appear on the screen before our eyes).

The film tells the story of three women: Andrea (Ester Expósito), Camila (Malena Villa) and Marie (Mathilde Olivier). Divided into three acts, the film explores the lives of these characters when they are faced with an evil entity that is chasing them.

Let's say that Pedro works with several themes in his production, but he doesn't use them as a driving force for the narrative to move forward. Seclusion, machismo, isolation, and the separation of families are all mixed together in many scenes that, more than just scare us, serve to warn us about some evils that also scare us in society.

The modestly produced film has a touch of amateurism, perhaps even on purpose. But it manages to contribute to intensifying the retro, dark and desolate atmosphere of the story, as in Camila's passage that takes place in 1978.

One of the secrets here was to include resources that create tension in the viewer, such as the entrance to a dark and abandoned building that echoes people's cries or even Camilla's camera that insists on being out of focus in some shots. The director opts for external and internal settings that generally cause discomfort, often due to the lack of lighting, or sometimes due to the feeling of claustrophobia that it conveys.

Although the act involving Andrea is the most impactful, Pedro weaves the three acts together well, creating a correct and believable sequence for a stunning ending that culminates in a film that has an open ending, perhaps setting the stage for a sequel.

El llanto, the feature debut of Pedro Martín-Calero, is a psychological horror thriller that strays from genre conventions to immerse the viewer in an unsettling and fragmented experience. Co-written with Isabel Peña (a frequent collaborator of Rodrigo Sorogoyen), the film draws inspiration from Asian horror cinema, relying on an oppressive atmosphere and a nonlinear narrative structure that heightens the sense of mystery.

Divided into three distinct segments, the story follows Andrea (Ester Expósito), Marie (Mathilde Ollivier), and Camila (Malena Villa), three women who, in different times and places-present-day Madrid and 1990s La Plata-are haunted by an invisible presence that only they can perceive. This entity manifests itself through a chilling sound: a cry. As the film progresses, the puzzle pieces begin to fit together, suggesting that trauma and curses can transcend time.

From its striking opening scene in a nightclub, which employs strobe effects to create disorientation, El llanto establishes its eerie tone. The film's cinematography and sound design play a crucial role in immersing the audience, making atmosphere its greatest strength. It also cleverly incorporates technology as a bridge between the supernatural and the everyday, with on-screen text messages serving as a key tool for revealing what the human eye cannot see.

However, the film prioritizes mood over narrative clarity, which may frustrate viewers looking for a more conventional or closed-ended story. Certain moments can feel perplexing due to the lack of direct explanations, though this ambiguity also adds to its enigmatic nature.

Another intriguing element is the recurring presence of a building that seems to serve as the origin or portal for the entity stalking the protagonists. Its appearance in both cities suggests that this force transcends physical space, manifesting in different locations while maintaining a singular essence.

Ultimately, El llanto is an ambitious take on psychological horror, offering a visual and auditory experience that generates a constant sense of unease. While its structure and atmosphere-driven approach may not appeal to everyone, those willing to embrace its mystery will find it as haunting as it is captivating.

El Llanto, a Spanish-Argentine film directed by Pedro Martín-Calero, is a work that manages to fascinate and frustrate at the same time. With an extremely intriguing premise and a sophisticated visual proposal, the film delivers a permanently oppressive, suffocating and disturbing atmosphere, where the discomfort grows with each scene. It is a psychological horror film that relies much more on latent tension than on conventional scares.

The construction of the setting is impeccable: dark scenes, intelligent use of cameras, screens, reflections and, above all, a sound design that masterfully incorporates the most striking element of the film - the constant, distressing and almost hypnotic crying that invades every space and every silence.

However, despite all this aesthetic and sensory strength, the development of the script proves to be far below what is necessary. The story simply does not explain itself. The connections between the characters and the events are poorly tied up, leaving holes, loose ends and a constant feeling that something is missing. The film builds up a huge expectation, but fails to deliver answers that are up to par, which directly compromises the viewer's emotional and rational connection.

The performances are competent, the tense atmosphere keeps the audience alert until the end, but the fragility of the narrative development undermines part of the experience. In the end, *El Llanto* is a film that haunts more for its atmosphere and the anguish it provokes than for the story it tells. And perhaps that is precisely where its greatest virtue and its greatest flaw lie.

A work that starts from an excellent premise, with an alarming atmosphere, suffocating tension and impeccable aesthetics, but which seriously fails due to the lack of narrative development, the absence of minimal explanations and for failing to transform its great idea into a truly complete experience. Even so, it captivates - and very much so - due to the constant uneasiness it provokes.

⭐ Rating: 6.5/10. How is that no possible: 7.0.

It could easily be 8/10 with a better-crafted script and a minimally satisfactory conclusion.

Well not really, I am referring to the Netflix TV show Ester was starring in. I almost did not recognize her. Different hair - and while I wouldn't say she tried to downplay how pretty she is, I think most can agree that her character is not dressed in a fashion that would even resemble the hotness she was attributed in the show I mentioned or what the media made of it (her).

All that said, the movie is not just about her. Actually it is about ... well the movie can be seen and read in many different ways. There is a reason I made the It follows reference in the summary headline - no pun intended by the way in case you missed me writing it.

As much as the movie is able to conjure and really set a mood ... it also seems to try to break its own logic time and time again. The apartment being one of those things that do not seem to make sense (in the confined bubble and with the "world" it exists within that is of course).

Don't cry for me ... or wail for me that is ... unless you really are feeling it ... the effects are good and if you don't mind some of its messaging, the movie is able to unnerve and frighten you for sure .. just let if flow over you ... if possible.

The Wailing is a film that manages to unsettle without relying on grand theatrics. Its dense atmosphere and the way it blends supernatural horror with a deeply human story make it stand out in the landscape of Spanish cinema. It reminded me, in part, of The Entity, but here the focus shifts: instead of a mother, the protagonists are young women facing their own fears and traumas.

What captivated me the most is Martín-Calero's direction. Every shot is designed to create discomfort and tension, but without going overboard. The use of light, sounds, and silences plays a crucial role in maintaining that constant sense of unease. The lead actresses also shine, displaying a vulnerability that feels very real. They aren't flat or stereotypical characters; there's something in their eyes and gestures that makes you empathize with them.

Despite its strengths, the film isn't without its ups and downs. At times, the narrative seems to lose its way, as if trying to tackle more than it can handle, leaving certain aspects underdeveloped. This can create the feeling that some pieces don't quite fit, weakening the main storyline.

Even so, The Wailing leaves an impact. It's not just a simple supernatural horror tale; it's a film that speaks about pain and violence in a way that lingers. Beyond the scares, what truly stays with you is the discomfort of its underlying message, inviting reflection long after the credits have rolled.