Written by Tom Augustine.

One of the best films of the decade passed by Aotearoa as barely a blip. Perhaps as a result of the catastrophic downturn Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival was weathering at the time, Lila Avilés near-masterpiece Tótem played to a cavernous, barely-populated ASB Waterfront Theatre. I sat enraptured, tears streaming, gutted that I’d have no one with whom to discuss this wonderful work. Thankfully, that’s now been remedied, as the sophomore feature of emerging auteur Avilés returns at last to Aotearoa courtesy of Rialto Channel’s January lineup. A sumptuous, humid coming of age story, it’s a film that doesn’t demand attention, but deserves it. The film anchors around a little girl, played miraculously by young Naíma Sentíes, in a performance that boggles the mind with its depth and maturity, a testament to a film that feels rooted in an authentic sense of place, home and freedom of expression. It is also a profoundly sad, even tragic film, a bidding of farewell to the dreamy trappings of youth, as the awareness of life’s finite nature rushes in to greet us for that first time. 

Finally returning to Aotearoa after a bow at Whānau Mārama NZIFF, courtesy of Rialto Channel, Mexican filmmaker Lila Avilés transcendent portrait of coming of age amidst grief is one of the essential films of the 2020s. It marks the arrival of a major new addition to the roster of major Mexican auteurs alongside Del Toro, Iñarritu and Cuarón.

Tótem could be described as a ‘party’ film – one of those films that digs at the uncomfortable, human nuances of large gatherings. Think of how much is revealed by that opening sequence of The Godfather, or the disturbing undercurrents of The Celebration or Rachel Getting Married. The joyous defiance of something like Lover’s Rock, heightened by the knowledge of inevitable pain hovering just outside the walls of the house. Stylistically, the sweaty, swampy aesthetics of the film evoke the same within Lucrecia Martel’s bold and mysterious La Ciénaga, though to warmer, more brazenly anguished ends. It’s a birthday party for the father of Sol (Sentíes). We come to understand swiftly that it is likely to be the last one he ever has, as he battles horribly with cancer. Within the confines of the one, over-packed house, life and death swirl terribly, yet movingly. The more packed with sweaty bodies the house becomes, the more starkly the realisation of the ending of a treasured time reverberates. So much of the power of Tótem is in its subtly chosen, cutting moments of realisation. ‘Why did Grandma die?’, Sol asks her auntie. ‘He got cancer’, is the response. We know the quiet thoughts that flit through Sol’s mind by the look on her face, and by Avilés’ careful framing. Dad has cancer too. This is underscored by the follow-up revelation, that her Grandma stayed in the same room that her Dad now rests in.

 

The tension of the film lies in the separation of mother, father and daughter, Sol kept away from where her father is resting by a legion of well-meaning family, largely left to her own devices or impatiently addressed as they labour over party preparations. Coming of age films, particularly gentle, and gently sad ones, are a dime a dozen these days, but few understand the caustic, essential division of adult and child, the necessity of existing around the child, the ongoing annoyance the child feels at not being made the centre of attention. Tótem is, in part, a film about frustration – the frustration of being waylaid, of being ignored, of not getting what you want, whether that’s attention or a few more years with your father. The frustration that comes with the uniting of different family factions with different ways of seeing the world – a sequence in which an aunt brings in a medium to rid the house of evil spirits before the party is hilarious in the way it tries everyone’s patience. The glowering family grandfather, who speaks using an electrolarynx, is a frequent, buzzing feature of the chaos. Throughout, Avilés’ handheld, observant camera conjures the feeling of watching an exquisitely rendered home movie, a marvel of seeming spontaneity that could only come from utmost control, so natural are the exchanges, so devoid of pretension the performances and the drama. It’s a delight to watch where the director places her focus, and her camera, whether it be ants crawling up a wall or the surge of bodies in space.

 

Though the film is brief, just ninety-five minutes, so much of the family dynamic is rendered that one can’t help but relate it to their own. In my family, we have suffered a loss very recently much like the one sure to come in Avilés’ film. There was even a party, several of them, like the one here. If art is universality in specificity, few films achieve what Tótem does, because of its homebound heart, its marrying of form to emotional truth. When the family is reunited, and the party ensues, the scenes that follow hit like a ton of bricks – the joyousness tempered by the sadness, the gorgeous strength of all involved when it really matters. The father’s nurse, Cruz, reminds him – you can fall but you can’t break. Ironically it’s the moment that is most certain to break the audience. This is a party, and a film, we don’t wish to leave, knowing the bracing cold of night is hovering outside of the reach of the birthday candles’ glow.

Tótem premieres on January 27 at 8:30 PM on Rialto Channel (Sky, Channel 39)

CLICK HERE TO WATCH THE TRAILER

Tótem

Movie title: Tótem (dir. Lila Avilés)

Movie description: Finally returning to Aotearoa after a bow at Whānau Mārama NZIFF, courtesy of Rialto Channel, Mexican filmmaker Lila Avilés transcendent portrait of coming of age amidst grief is one of the essential films of the 2020s. It marks the arrival of a major new addition to the roster of major Mexican auteurs alongside Del Toro, Iñarritu and Cuarón.

Date published: January 16, 2025

Country: Mexico, France, Denmark

Author: Lila Avilés

Director(s): Lila Avilés

Actor(s): Naíma Sentíes, Montserrat Marañon, Marisol Gasé

Genre: Drama

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