TÓTEM - Mark Reviews Movies

Tótem, Sideshow / Janus Films

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Review by Mark Dujsik | February 1, 2024

At its most potent, Tótem communicates and reflects the understanding of a child. Kids often know more than adults might suspect—and definitely about the things from which they try to shield children. That's the case with Sol (Naíma Sentíes), a 7-year-old girl who makes a wish in an opening scene of writer/director Lila Avilés movie. She wishes that her father won't die.

The whole story is set during the preparation for a party and the festivities themselves, although there's nothing particularly festive about this celebration. It's for the birthday of Sol's father Tona (Mateo García Elizondo), who remains only spoken of and off screen for a significant portion of the movie. From the girl's wish, we anticipate the reality, and from the hushed tones and literally spelt-out—so that Sol and her younger cousin might not comprehend—details offered by the Tona's relatives, that reality is even more dire than we might expect.

Avilés' movie sort of wanders around the house, finding little moments of the adults evading what's happening to this man whom they love in a closed-off bedroom, because to admit it would be too much. What does this evasion mean for Sol, who clearly knows her father is ill and not getting better anytime soon?

All she sees is her aunts keeping busy with baking a cake, setting up decorations, and making sure the guests will arrive on time, but she doesn't see her mother Lucia (Iazua Larios), who has dropped off Sol to pick up some things for the party, and, most importantly, her dad, who is so physically close to her in nearby room but has kept his distance from his daughter. She knows he's sick, but Sol can't comprehend why that means she can't see him.

The central concept of Avilés' movie is heartbreaking, but the meandering execution of that conceit, which often finds itself separated from Sol's perspective, keeps those emotions at a distance. In a way, that's the point here, since the whole story is about a group of people not talking about the one thing that's at the front of their minds and doing the little they can to make things better.

It's not much, both in terms of what the characters accomplish and by way of what this story reveals about how we deal—or, in this case, don't deal—with grief. The narrative assembles assorted vignettes and episodes of the family. Nuria (Montserrat Marañon), one of Sol's paternal aunts, bakes a cake with her daughter Ester (Saori Gurza), who is just young enough not to treat Sol, her older cousin, with the sympathy the girl needs.

The other aunt Alejandra (Marisol Gasé) hires a psychic of sorts, who walks around the house with a piece of burning bread, trying to vanquish whatever evil spirits might be present in the adult siblings' childhood home. Meanwhile, Sol's grandfather Roberto (Alberto Amador), who speaks with an electronic voice box, is irritated by all the business and commotion in his house, trying to keep to himself and tending to a miniature tree that he cared for since the death of his wife several years ago. One of the most affecting scenes pays off his tender care for the plant—a simple and likely futile gesture coming from a man who has difficulty putting his feelings into words.

Things go wrong, of course, but also in little ways. The cake's a disaster, and there's an naïve sweetness to the way Ester consoles her mother by reminding her they can always bake another one. We're reminded of Sol's wish in that moment, because here's a girl who still has some of that childish naïveté about life but also is starting to think in more mature terms.

Tona's nurse Cruz (Teresita Sánchez), who seems to be the only adult in the house to attempt to speak to Sol on the girl's terms and with some sympathy for what she's going through, finds Sol asking a cellphone if her father will die and if the world will end (The girl's connection of those two thoughts is quietly devastating). Cruz knows better than anyone what the girl's father is experiencing, what he's thinking (The talk of Tona's treatment has become one of procuring morphine), and why he's hesitant to see his daughter. She also knows that last thing is the only mater on Sol's mind.

All of this makes a certain sense on an emotional level and a thematic one, but despite the limited scope of the narrative location (in and just outside the house) and timeline (the course of a single day), Avilés' focus might simply be too broad for characters and a goal that are inherently simple. When it narrows in on Sol and how she sees things, the movie finds sturdy ground (That's especially true when Tona does enter the story as more than a subject of conversation). However, there's so much business happening around her, iterating the same point over and over, that the story feels like an uncertain juggling act.

The craft on display in Tótem, as the naturalistic performances and Avilés' intruding camerawork give the material a realistic sense of intimacy, is apparent, and the core idea of this story is undeniably sound. The story itself, though, doesn't expand that idea in a way that achieves the emotional impact Avilés is trying for with this material.

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