Thousands of people in Colombia have been “forcibly disappeared”, as the euphemistic expression goes, since conflicts began in the mid-1960s between the Colombian government and various paramilitary and guerilla groups. This reality is well-known, and has been so for a while — an awareness that, over such a long period of time, may dim the horror of the facts for some. But for the mothers of the missing, as portrayed in “Five Years, Four Months,” the pain never stops, it transforms. The years do not heal, they only dig deeper that dizzying gulf between the grieving, still looking for answers, and those lucky others for whom the present isn’t a constant reminder of what has been lost.
With understated but very effective filmmaking, directors Juan Miguel Gelacio and Esteban Hoyos García create an all-encompassing feeling of alienation in their portrait of Martha Baquero, a fictional character based on the real stories of women who worked with with the filmmakers on this project. Premiering in the Crystal Globe competition at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, this second feature confirms the duo’s impressive control of cinema’s visceral, affective powers.
At first glance, the film’s aesthetic seems purely realist, documenting the drawn-out processes that make up Martha’s search for the remains of her son, Fabian. She takes several long bus journeys across the country, on her way to painstakingly dig into potential burial sites as part of nationwide exhumation projects, or to fill out endless paperwork. But Gelacio and García also use these scenes to evoke the sensorial and emotional landscape of Martha’s life. The inclusion of these narratively uneventful sequences, stitched together into a calm and steady rhythm, subtly emphasizes the in-between feeling that defines her existence.
Even in those moments that seem most serene, she is never truly present; always, she is waiting — for an answer, for her son, for something better, later. As the camera stays close to her, focusing on her experience, it also brings out her loneliness and how closed-off she is to others. Meanwhile, meticulous sound design amplifies the sounds around her — animals, traffic, the wind. Martha is detached from the world, yet always hyper-aware of it, the way traumatized people can be numb and perpetually on their guard at the same time.
The filmmakers create tension so intense that it frequently borders on the horrific. So much so, in fact, that a handful of sequences showing Martha’s eerie dreams of naked, anonymous bodies in a dark forest not only fit seamlessly into the film — they actually provide a sense of release. Thoughtfully inserted at key moments in the narrative, these haunting images of shapes coming into focus in extreme slow-motion are a perfect extension of the film’s general mood of anxious yet eager anticipation.
All the elements in “Five Years, Four Months” are in harmony; its hypnotic spell remains unbroken throughout. Crucial to this is the largely wordless performance from Jenny Nava as Martha, who appears in practically every scene. Although her character is inexpressive and, at first glance, unchanging, Nava plays her with an opaqueness that invites curiosity. Even as she is going through an experience unfathomable to most, her face is more blank than it is severe, raising questions about what she might truly be feeling and why she might not be showing all of it.
Early on in the film, Martha joins a dance therapy class for grieving mothers like her: They are many, with their own networks, taking care of one another. There, Martha can express her pain and reconnect with her body. But the rest of the time, for the rest of the world, life goes on. It is heartbreaking to hear Martha put a note of gaiety in her voice in ordinary conversations, for the benefit of her interlocutors, when her whole demeanor screams only sorrow.
At the dance class, a woman reminds Martha that she is not alone. But for Martha, this community isn’t enough. Her fixed expression is that of someone who refuses to accept that she might not get an answer; she is waiting for more. When another mother named Sandra (Carmiña Martínez, from “Birds of Passage”) tells her about a place where she could find Fabian by “speaking with a dead man”, it isn’t surprising to see Martha embark on this bizarre journey.
As she follows the lead of this stranger — who says she has been looking for her son for 24 years — the tension that so far has been ambient and diffuse turns vivid and concrete. Is Martha going to be the victim of a cruel and expensive scam? But even as she appears to enter a seedy and dangerous world of crime, Martha’s journey and her connection with Sandra seem to bring her a feeling of solace at last.
What actually happens at the close of this journey is for each viewer to decide. But the film truly culminates before that ending, in a devastatingly beautiful scene where Martha talks about her son for the first time. As Gelacio and García cut to the lush nature around the two women, the ordinary beauty that surrounds them seems to vibrate with Fabian’s youthful enthusiasm and Martha’s endless love for him. From such overpowering emotion to a belief in benevolent ghosts, there is only a small step. Gelacio and García’s moving film helps us understand those who choose to take it.
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