THE STORY – Cata sees her summer vacation disrupted by the absurd and sudden death of her grandmother, which only she witnesses. Her grief shifts when she casually turns to play pretend, transforming into the deceased. What begins with a game of dress-up will blur the lines of reality and family roles.
THE CAST – Zoe Stein, Lluís Homar, Núria Prims, Nonni Ardal Hammarström & Martina García
THE TEAM – Lucía Aleñar Iglesias (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 97 Minutes
Lucía Aleñar Iglesias’ short film “Forastera,” released in 2020 – not to be confused with Aleñar Iglesias’ feature debut, “Forastera,” which premiered September 8 at the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival – packs so much tenderness and emotional disturbance into 20 minutes that it would be reasonable to wonder how much more meat could possibly be left on the bone. It begins in the passenger seat of a car, as Cata (a then-20-year-old Zoe Stein, who, now 25, plays the same role in the feature) stares through the annulus of a CD as her mother, Pepa, reveals that she is seeing someone new. From the rear row of the vehicle, after their mom inquires about Cata’s love life, her sister, Antonia, jokes that “she is allergic” to men. The off-screen parent notes that Antonia sounds just like her late grandmother, “rest her soul,” a notion that stops Cata’s mind and eyes dead in their tracks. She remains silent yet says so much, looking blankly toward her mother while forcing a smile that’s been drained of all joy, as though the words Pepa has lobbed lovingly toward Antonia gave the elder sister whiplash on their way to the backseat. Words wouldn’t make it any clearer that Cata believes herself to be the one carrying on their abuela’s legacy, both by name and in her actions. Any and all suggestions to the contrary feel like a dagger not through the chest, but directly into the chamber of her heart.
Grandma Catalina is already dead by the time Aleñar Iglesias’ short commences, never appearing in as much as a photograph, but her presence is deeply felt both by those in the ensemble and those watching along, speculating as to what exactly happened to this family’s beloved matriarch which subsequently turned Cata’s world on its side. When Cata starts wearing her grandmother’s clothes and operating as though she’s literally keeping her grandmother’s spirit alive by tending to her grandfather (the storied Spanish actor Lluís Homar, best known for his role in Pedro Almodóvar’s “Bad Education”) and his every whim, the line separating the person Cata was before and after Catalina passed becomes fuzzier than the static a radio produces whilst floating listlessly between stations.
“Forastera” – the feature – stretches Aleñar Iglesias’ already-fascinating concept by 77 minutes, but very few of them are wasted, especially given the fact that the elderly Catalina (Marta Angelat) is present to start things off. Her impact on those in her familial unit is profound, none more than the bond she has with Cata, who spends the most time with her and caters to her wishes more often than not. She enjoys spending time with her on the balcony of their glorious beachfront estate – where much of the film takes place – primarily because she has grown to hate going to the beach. Abuela explains how she once saw a man kill an octopus “very violently” right where they were swimming; it changed everything about the beach for her from that day forth, and eventually comes to change Cata. But one evening, after Cata returns home from a day of flirting with a local boy (Nonni Ardal Hammarström), she discovers her grandmother lying still on the stairs outside her home, clearly having taken a fall. Cata, distraught, can barely speak or move before checking her grandmother’s pulse, ensuring that she was long dead before Cata returned, the rest of the family having gone to sleep.
This sequence – similar to a great many in the remarkably-constructed film no matter its setting – is a testament to Aleñar Iglesias’ knowledge of the story she’s telling and Agnès Piqué’s stunning and intentional cinematography. Aleñar Iglesias begins to lay the groundwork for similar events that unfold in the 2020 short, though they’re even more meticulously staged and detailed in the feature. Catalina’s dresses are shot with the intensity of Arthur Fleck’s bathroom dance (you know, from “Joker,” a film I can’t believe I’m referencing in this context), and only partly due to Cata’s penchant for dancing in them, much to the amazement of Homar’s Tomeu. The discomfort rendered in this moment and a few more like it organically offers an opportunity for the film’s principal tension to build, and causes an array of questions to emerge. That they feel natural for the viewer is strictly due to our familiarity with what’s unfolding (especially those who are familiar with the slighter yet equally-remarkable short), but the discomfort that materializes in these moments feels entirely abnormal. “Who is this young woman becoming?” we consider, “And how much of it does she have control over?”
Asking that question in regards to Aleñar Iglesias is rather futile if only because the filmmaker’s control is self-evident from her film’s opening credits. It’s one thing to position shots in a way that feels conveniently artful, but Aleñar Iglesia and Piqué have a keen sense of orienting their frames to notice only what we’re meant to see, a far cry from most films that believe themselves to be made with elevated sensibilities. Furthermore, Aleñar Iglesia places a distinct emphasis on seemingly minor details, particularly the way she shifts between roman and italicized subtitles depending on who Cata is inhabiting at any given moment. It’s a stellar example of what real precise filmmaking looks like – it sounds like an easy choice on paper, but committing to it and trusting an audience to catch on is a loftier hope, one that should be swiftly rewarded in kind.
And for all of the talk about whether Cata is spending time as herself or as her grandmother, “Forastera” is far from a “spirit-full” work. A more apt descriptor would be “spiritual,” this being a contemplative picture that depicts the complexities of grief and the moving on that follows – and it does follow – however delayed and tedious that process may be. That it never feels cheap in that exploration is perhaps as extraordinary as the film at face value, with both Aleñar Iglesias and the chameleonic Stein introducing themselves as ones to watch, if not outright revelatory talents from the word go. The only thing that may hold one back from going so far so soon is how gloriously patient “Forastera” is in a time that warrants haste in accordance with audience desires. Aleñar Iglesias should continue to reject such tendencies. Her thoughtfulness, however long it takes to arrive at a concrete resolution of sorts, speaks for itself.
