Haunting Echoes: Unearthing 'The Wailing' at San Sebastian

Ah, the delightful, dark corners of cinema, where shadows and silhouettes become the artful playthings of a maestro—Pedro Martín-Calero—who, with his debut film, The Wailing, invites us on a rollercoaster of horror from his Spanish, Argentinian, and French trifecta. But before we think we’ve wandered into the murky depths of cliché, let me assure you, this is not your typical scare-fest.

What sets The Wailing apart, my dear cinephiles, is its impeccable style mixed with a modernist cool that feels freshly minted. Picture this: Death isn’t merely hovering ominously; it dances about like a pesky party crasher at a meticulous gathering, one that you secretly hope will leave soon but somehow keeps you entertained in the meantime. Not to be confused with its Korean namesake from 2016, this iteration is pure, crafty art—a three-part saga that coaxes you into its labyrinth with the grace of a catwalk model strutting her stuff.

Now here’s where it gets juicy—a strong feminist core runs through this film like a lifeline. We open with a dizzying intro that practically shimmers with strobe lights and beats more thunderous than your Uncle Bob on a karaoke night. Enter our first heroine, Andrea (the ever-so-talented Exter Esposito), lurking in present-day Madrid. Her boyfriend, Pau (the charming Alex Monner), is chatting away from Sydney while a shadowy figure steals the spotlight from behind him—a mystery that asks if it’s better to miss your significant other or if you’d rather miss the chance to call for the nearest ghostbuster.

Then, we twist back in time to La Plata, Argentina, where our next protagonist, Camila (played by the magnetic Malena Villa), becomes seduced by an enchantingly elusive woman named Marie (the intriguing Mathilde Ollivier). As if stalking someone for a documentary is the most romantic notion ever conceived, Camila’s fascination becomes tinged with dread, because let’s be real—who among us hasn’t found themselves crush-stricken and lost in a dreadful situation?

The narrative crescendos through these tales like a well-composed symphony, where suspense meets eruptions of terror as everything culminates in Marie’s chaotic struggle. This meticulously crafted screenplay, co-written by Martín-Calero and the astute Isabel Peña, is a careful balancing act between what we think we know and what we’re about to discover—high stakes, folks! And oh, the dramatic execution is like a finely tuned watch, where every tick matters.

Visually, the film dances expertly between eras—think of the modern screens that bring the youth’s obsessions to life, contrasted with the gritty camcorder aesthetics of our film student’s escapades. Here lies the irony; a spacious, sunlight-drenched apartment can feel just as stifling and claustrophobic as your grandmother’s attic filled with her collection of porcelain cats. Such is the wonder of Martín-Calero and Cinematographer Constanza Sandoval—their gift for transforming mundane spaces into foreboding realms of horror.

With this debut, we witness the birth of a new movement in Hispanic horror, one that intertwines social commentary with spine-chilling narratives. The film speaks to women’s stories—as woven beautifully into the fabric of fear itself—where patriarchy looms as threateningly as any apparition on screen. And in the lead roles, our young actresses deliver performances that are not only compelling but also multifaceted; watch out for Villa’s raw blend of wariness and passion, a true force of nature!

In summary, The Wailing isn’t just a film; it’s a statement wrapped in layers of tension, empowerment, and the ever-present question of what it means to be hunted—by both death and expectation. And just like a dinner party where everything turns out just a little more dramatic than anticipated, it leaves you both satisfied and wishing for another glass of wine—because horror, my friends, is always best served with a touch of humor and a whole lot of heart.