‘Romería’ Review: A Budding Filmmaker Pursues Her Parents’ Obscured Past in Carla Simón’s Lovely, Pensive Coastal Voyage

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Sea Journey” – A fitting title for Carla Simón’s third feature film, which in Spanish is known as “Romería,” a term meaning pilgrimage. This film, based on the director’s own teenage travels to meet her extended family she had never known before, can be seen as a sea-bound road movie, following a quest for self-discovery. However, unlike traditional pilgrimages, this journey doesn’t lead to a sacred destination or enlightenment. Instead, it navigates the labyrinthine streets, bustling harbors, and sparkling coastal waters of Galicia, Spain, immersing itself in the tumultuous mix of family and community gatherings. The spiritual connotation of the title takes on a bittersweet twist as it becomes clear that there’s no divine destination or emotional homecoming here. Yet, through her fictional alter ego’s search for where she doesn’t belong, Simón manages to make sense of her own scattered childhood memories and those inherited from her late biological parents.

Following the extensive sociological exploration presented in her second film “Alcarràs,” awarded the Golden Bear at the 2022 Berlinale, Simón’s newest work revisits the specifically autobiographical themes found in her debut from 2017, “Summer 1993.” This new film continues to explore and process grief and disorientation stemming from the deaths of both her parents due to AIDS in the early 1990s. Although it is not a direct sequel to “Summer 1993,” as the characters representing Simón are differently named and portrayed in each film, it does beautifully expand upon its predecessor’s depiction of childhood trauma, leading us gently into the uncertain threshold of adulthood. While prior knowledge of Simón’s life or previous work is not essential to be captivated by this multi-layered, poignantly moving memory piece, its premiere in Cannes competition will undoubtedly enhance her growing reputation within the art house scene.

It’s the summer of 2004, and 18-year-old movie enthusiast Marina (Llúcia Garcia), who has just graduated from high school, is planning to pursue filmmaking studies in Barcelona with a scholarship she’s yet to fully secure. For bureaucratic reasons, she needs a notarized proof of family relationship from her grandparents on her father’s side, people who have never acknowledged or contacted Marina since her father passed away, leaving her under the care of adoptive parents. This means traveling across the country to Vigo, a city on the Atlantic coast, where she’s welcomed by her uncle Lois (Tristán Ulloa) and numerous cousins. After a leisurely day sailing and swimming around the scenic Cíes Islands, which were once playgrounds for Marina’s parents in their youth, they eventually reach her grandparents’ home.

They were reckless, restless, and increasingly reliant on drugs, while Marina is a thoughtful observer of life, reserved and sober, finding humor in the boisterous behavior of her eldest cousin Nuno (the actor Mitch) and his friends.

Despite initially appearing warm and lively, the family reveals limitations to their acceptance towards Marina. Her grandmother (Marina Troncoso) is arrogant and openly antagonistic, questioning why she hadn’t visited sooner, while her grandfather (José Ángel Egido) may seem friendlier but prefers to compensate her generously instead of formalizing any agreements. Marina’s young cousins inquire if she’s unwell, as they’ve been instructed never to touch her blood due to a disease that tainted her parents and still carries a stigma within the family. This makes her presence uncomfortable for them. Through discussions with various relatives, Marina discovers conflicting narratives about her parents’ past lives, which have been hidden from her. Her memories are redefined on the spot, causing her to question her identity.

In her past works, Simon’s filmmaking is tactile yet warm, sensitive to both human actions and landscape details. Her partnership with renowned cinematographer Hélène Louvart seems effortless, as the camera glides smoothly but unhurriedly through crowded interiors or around the weathered, charming cityscape of Vigo. It captures the soft glow of sunlight and the elongated shadows of late afternoon, yet avoids cliche postcard shots.

In the movie’s second half, I found myself pleasantly taken aback by Simón’s foray into a dreamy, magical realism, a departure from his usual style. Yet, it was clear that this shift was intentional, acting as a connection between Marina’s personal depiction of her parents’ past and raw, unpolished flashbacks to their carefree days spent in punk clubs, on the streets, and in intimate moments. This narrative detour offered glimpses into sensory experiences beyond our protagonist’s viewpoint, transporting us to vibrant nights at ’80s punk clubs, tangled seaweed and tattooed limbs during a passionate beach encounter, and more. Simón’s bittersweet tribute to the family we lost captures what might have been, while reminding us that not every memory can be inherited – some beautifully perish with us.

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2025-05-21 18:16