Though the Mexican director Lila Avilés has a way of withholding information that gives her domestic drama a touch of mystery, she reveals her thematic hand very early on. The protagonist of Tótem, seven-year-old Sol (Naíma Sentíes), is driving with her mother, Lucia (Lazua Larios), in a car filled with party balloons. The mood is buoyant and mother and daughter are playing a game that hinges on a secret wish. Sol reveals hers, which is that her father wouldn’t die. As the movie quickly informs us, the party to which the pair (or, actually, just Sol, since Lucia then disappears with no explanation for a good portion of the film) are traveling is for Sol’s father, a painter named Tona (Mareo García Elizondo), who is dying of cancer. His family, meaning his brothers and sisters, are throwing a birthday party for him at the home of their father, Roberto (Alberto Amador), a somewhat intimidating psychiatrist who consults with patients while his children prepare the festivities. Sol observes it all, sometimes as a participant, other times as a fly on the wall, and receives a crash course in adult deflection. Why are they celebrating her father’s oncoming demise? More incisively, why can’t she be with her father when she demands to be with him, a question that even Avilés seems reluctant to answer. 

While the POV is mostly that of the girl, the scenes of her relatives and their friends trying to make the best out of a desperately sad situation is presented unfiltered, so if Sol often seems confused by the behavior of the grownups, the viewer knows what’s going on but shares in Sol’s frustration. Along the way, Tona’s sister, Nuria (Montserrat Marañon), struggles to bake a birthday cake while taking care of her precocious toddler daughter, who nevertheless isn’t old enough to appreciate the gravity/ridiculousness of the situation. An exorcist, invited by another sibling against their father’s wishes, walks about the house as if she owned the place, ridding it of bad spirits. Tona’s nurse, Cruz (Teresita Sánchez), mostly stays with her charge, cleaning him up when he shits himself just before making his very reluctant entrance (he clearly doesn’t want a birthday party) and reminding the siblings that she hasn’t been paid yet. Eventually, Lucia returns and the small nuclear family is reunited for a short interlude that overflows with love and stinging regret, only to be interrupted by the consequence of the party that was planned and cannot be denied, and which Tona pretends to enjoy.

Sol’s outlook becomes ours: Why can’t we have more joy, as when she, Nuria, and Tona are alone together within the carapace of their affection? Why do family and friends insist on perpetutating the pain by reminding everyone, not least of all Tona, of his impending mortality with a celebration that is mostly carried out to make them feel better? Avilés’ particular genius is elucidating these points through the eyes of a child who barely comprehends them but is still wise enough to understand that she is losing something more precious than anything she will ever know—not just her father, but time itself.  

In Spanish. Now playing in Tokyo at Human Trust Cinema Yurakucho (03-6259-8608), Shinjuku Musashinokan (03-3354-5670).

Tótem home page in Japanese

photo (c) 2023 Limerenciafilms S.A.P.I. de C.V. Laterna Film, Paloma Productions, Alphaviolet Production