Four Films to Fill the Void of Someone's Absence
Locarno, and by extension Switzerland, is the land of plenty. Nature’s beauty is matched only by the prices of food and alcohol in this picturesque corner of Ticino province—but this year, something was missing. Or to be more precise: Someone was missing. Absence has always been an inspiration for cinema, the artform of audio-visual riches, and it’s not too far-fetched to suggest that film can show everything, even the invisible. But when a person is missing, can cinema make up for the loss?
In praise of single mothers everywhere, Norwegian director Janicke Askevold premiered her sophomore feature Solomamma (Norway/Latvia/Lithuania/Denmark/Finland) early in this year’s Concorso Internazionale. The (vague, yet direct) title is self-explanatory, especially since the protagonist Edith (Lisa Loven Kongsli) identifies as such, and little more. Even though she’s initially introduced to the viewer as a successful, socially esteemed journalist who happens to be raising her toddler alone, Askevold’s script seems quite determined to strip Edith down of anything that could derail a character anchored in motherhood. Solomamma‘s narrative hinges on a rather random disclosure of information—the name of the sperm donor who “fathered” Edith’s son—which then drives Edith to seek him out. She pretends to interview him for a newspaper feature, while trying to squeeze out as much from him as possible, and while the danger of this endeavor makes for an exciting dramedy, her desire seems largely unmotivated. In the hope of tackling single parenthood delicately and with humor, Solomamma crumbles under the weight of biological determinism and eventually betrays its protagonist, dethroning her from the “strong independent woman” pedestal, as she chases the thrill of “knowing” the father of her child.
Dry Leaf (Germany/Georgia) also hinges on the premise of a missing person. For 186 minutes of screen time, a father searches for his daughter Lisa, who has disappeared while photographing football stadiums in villages across Georgia for a sports magazine. Her dad Irakli (David Koberidze) looks for Lisa in detours and zig-zags across the country, in fable-like fashion, typical for Georgian director Alexandre Koberidze. True to his affection for football, evident from What Do We See When We Look at the Sky? (2021), Koberidze’s new film borrows its title from “a kick with an unpredictable landing of the ball” and allows for a meandering narrative and a polyphony of random encounters. Lisa is missing, but her father’s search is not as urgent as one would expect, which in turn allows the viewer to sink comfortably into low-resolution images that would otherwise make one feel on edge.
Croatian director Hana Jušić’s God Will Not Help (Bog neće pomoći, Croatia/Italy/Romania/Greece/France/Slovenia) won a Best Performance nod for actresses Manuela Martelli and Ana Marija Veselčić. Marelli plays Teresa, a Chilean woman who, sometime in the early 20th century, comes unannounced into a rural community of Croatian shepherds, claiming to be the widow of Milena (Veselčić)’s émigré brother. In the case of God Will Not Help, the missing husband/brother is what unites the two women, weaving a wondrously enigmatic relationship between them that transcends the language barrier. Jušić’s film shares the soft but uncompromising approach of Valeska Grisebach’s Western (2017), where two strangers learn to understand one another beyond the words they speak. Unlike Western, God Will Not Help feels expansive and chimerical at times, by virtue of its stark period aesthetics, well-calibrated and haunting score, and supernatural elements—a true discovery for Eastern European cinema today.
Including Naomi Kawase’s new film, Yakushima’s Illusion (L’Illusion de Yakushima, France/Japan/Belgium/Luxembourg) in this report may be a bit of a spoiler already, but the list wouldn’t be complete without its gentle depictions of yearning on Yakushima Island, Japan. Someone disappears halfway through the film and shatters the world of Corry (Vicky Krieps), who moved to Japan a few years earlier to coordinate heart transplants in a pediatric hospital. Krieps is, as always, luminous and raw, portraying a doctor and a foreigner, whose daily work is one of the most challenging in the medical profession. Kawase’s unmatched empathy as a writer and director elevates the conceit of Yakushima’s Illusion—a film about loss—to a celebration of presence and the present. At times, the film retreats into obliqueness, which is no surprise to anyone familiar with the Japanese filmmaker’s work, but Krieps illuminates every frame she’s in, as we witness her mournful look transforming into a new hope. Yakushima’s Illusion may as well be the filmic equivalent of tears of joy at this year’s Locarno.
Savina Petkova
Edited by Robert Horton
© FIPRESCI 2025