Nadie puede desaparecer del todo by Marina Marián Rodrigo

*This column was written before the release of the film.

Spain is on a roll this year, but with the many highlights, there are a comparable number of lows to address. One of the most pressing is the migrant crisis in Ceuta and the tensions it’s causing with Morocco and among Spanish people, really testing us as a nation. Similar to the rest of Europe, Spain is sadly seeing a rise in far-right ideologies among younger generations, fueled by racism, xenophobia and homophobia. That is why I think La Bola Negra is a particularly relevant movie right now. 

It follows three gay men across different moments in Spanish history: 1932, 1937, and 2017. It draws from Federico García Lorca’s unfinished play of the same name and La piedra oscura by Alberto Conejero (2013). Spain has selected it as its submission for Best International Feature at the 2027 Oscars; the film has already won Best Director ex aequo at Cannes (also receiving the festival’s longest ovation, almost 20 minutes). 

But you don’t understand the layers to this. It is directed by Los Javis, a (queer) creative duo (consisting of Javier Ambrossi and Javier Calvo) with a history of directing other “camp” movies & shows (by the way, if you’re in Intermediate/Advanced Spanish you have to watch Paquita Salas, it’s on Netflix). La Bola Negra stars Penélope Cruz, Guitarricadelafuente (Álvaro Lafuente Calvo), and Miguel Bernardeau, with a score interpreted by Judeline and Camarón de La Isla… it’s as Spanish as it can be. What’s more, the film focuses on what had to remain unspoken a long time after the war, including the wounds of the past that are still very much alive today. Ultimately, La Bola Negra is a movie about life and how you have to live it for those who could not before you. Despite speculation that it would be a Lorca biopic, Los Javis have made clear that it isn’t, nor does it “set out to do justice to anything.”

It’s also difficult to miss the symbolism: St. Sebastian gives his name to the main character and is also the poster’s central symbol. Sebastian has been embraced by the LGBT+ community since the late 19th century as a figure of persecution and perseverance. His image was also used during the HIV/AIDS crisis because he’d historically been regarded as a protector against the plague, becoming a kind of patron saint of queerness, sickness and perseverance. Furthermore, pink is used throughout the trailers and posters; the colour assigned to gay prisoners in Nazi concentration camps. 

As for music, the trailers use Soldadito Español, a military pasodoble by Jacinto Guerrero (1927), and La Leyenda del Tiempo by Camarón de La Isla (1979). The former is originally a patriotic celebration of the Spanish military, but Judeline’s melancholic interpretation seems to subvert that meaning: rather than glorifying war, it draws attention to the suffering and destruction behind it. The latter was also inspired by Lorca, taking its title from a poem featured in his play Así que pasen cinco años. 

This movie isn’t meaningful to me just because it’s a Spanish production, but because it uses Spanish cultural symbols to highlight people who were also part of Spanish history but were pushed out of the national narrative. I invite all of you to watch it. Based only on the trailer, it promises to be a great watch. 

Until next time! xoxo