“A quiet but devastating exploration of a friendship under pressure.”

What happens after you experience an act of violence? How do you navigate a world in which you’re lost for words, with a lack of immediate justice and the feeling that there is no way back to being the person you were before? In her extraordinary directorial debut Sad Girlz (Chicas Tristes), Fernanda Tovar dares to ask these questions, focusing on the fragile bond between two teenage swimmers whose friendship is quietly undone by a traumatic incident. The film tells the story of Paula and La Maestra, both only sixteen years old, spending their days in the joyful bliss of youth. However, an act of assault against Paula forces them to realise that life is filled with insurmountable challenges. Initially presenting itself as a loosely crafted hangout film in which we observe the daily lives of these girls through being immersed in the rhythms of teenage life, it eventually becomes a more harrowing exploration of trauma. Told through the eyes of two girls attempting to navigate life, and whose entire friendship is built on a bond that consumes them, relying on both physical closeness and emotional dependence, the film becomes a powerful examination of the emotional rupture that occurs in the aftermath of a horrifying event, allowing the confusion and deep sadness to lead the narrative.

From its first moments we can find a lot of value in the style of the film. Sad Girlz unfolds at a deliberate, unhurried pace. The first act of the film is a series of small episodes built around the joyful moments experienced by these characters, long stretches of training peppered with moments of careless, youthful bliss. Very little happens narratively in those moments, but they’re essential to not only defining the characters but allowing a gradual sense of tension to build, which is mirrored in the final portion of the film after the traumatic events change the course of their friendship. The director places emphasis on atmosphere more than incident, which creates a constant feeling of unease, reflecting the growing sense of discomfort forming beneath the surface of this relationship that is undergoing a significant strain. The emotions, which are key to this story, are kept subtle and restrained, Tovar resisting the urge to dramatise the trauma, and instead allowing the viewer to sit in a state of unease. This subdued approach gives the subject matter the appropriate tone, acknowledging the internalised pain and deep confusion without trivialising an issue that can’t be compressed into a single narrative.

Much of the impact made by Sad Girlz is delivered by the two lead actresses, who are relatively new to the industry, but leave such an impression through their quietly devastating performances. Despite their youth, both Darana Álvarez and Rocío Guzmán lead this film brilliantly, delivering masterfully controlled work in which they convey the inner turmoil experienced by their characters. Most of this is done through non-verbal cues, such as gestures, facial expressions and even the way they carry themselves, especially important considering how many of the film’s significant moments take place in silence, where even the smallest look or movement communicates more than the dialogue. Álvarez as Paula has the more challenging of the two roles, since she is the victim of assault, and therefore her pain is more tangible. The sadness and despair settle in every recess of her body, impacting the way she moves and speaks. This is sharply contrasted with Guzmán’s performance as La Maestra, whose reaction to the events is more outward and volatile, her actions driven by deep frustration and the urge to help her friend get through an unbearable situation.

Beyond the artistry, Sad Girlz is a film about an ongoing social epidemic. Gender-based violence and sexual assault remain widespread problems, and this film is built on just one of the countless stories of young people becoming victims. It’s a global problem, but Tovar chooses to focus specifically on contemporary social realities faced by young people in her native Mexico, engaging with life in a world where accountability and public justice are a continuous source of conversation and social action. Drawing on contemporary themes such as the #MeToo movement (which is now over a decade old, yet remains as important a subject as ever) and social media, the film explores the consequences of wanting to exact revenge from both an emotional and ideological perspective, in an attempt to reclaim control of one’s own personal narrative when institutional support is absent. The director doesn’t avoid exploring these moral binaries, allowing the actions to feel simultaneously understandable and alarming. This is supported by the decision to keep the assault off-screen, showing Tovar’s refusal to resort to voyeurism, and shifting the film’s focus to looking at how these girls struggle to not only understand what happened, but also attempt to give it a name, if only to find a path towards healing.

Sad Girlz is not an easy film, but it is an essential one. It tells a timely and harrowing story, following a friendship facing unexpected obstacles, concluding without the kind of catharsis we would expect, and instead embracing the ambiguity as a means of both emotional and psychological protection. A friendship fractured, but not destroyed, by a traumatic incident creates an organic and disquieting depiction of grief and guilt, resulting in one of the more resonant examinations of a friendship weathering a complex storm in recent years. Tovar delivers a film that is direct about its message, refusing to force the audience to experience certain sensations or form specific interpretations, which gives the film an honesty and complexity that the subject matter warrants. Driven by a pair of wonderful performances by two promising young women, Sad Girlz stands as a quiet but devastating exploration of a friendship under pressure, nestling itself in the awkward and fragile space between solidarity and fracture, and making one of the most striking statements on these challenging and relevant themes that we’ve seen in quite some time.

(c) Image copyright: Rosa Hadit Hernández, Colectivo Colmena