One of the first images we see in Alcarràs, the stunning sophomore effort by the talented Carla Simón, is that of a group of children playing in a car, which has been abandoned near a reservoir somewhere near their home, which sits at the heart of rural Catalonia, in the region that bears the title of the film – they’re engaged in a game that draws on their childhood innocence and endless imagination, something they don’t realize is a finite commodity as they grow older. This is only the first of many heartbreakingly beautiful moments that define this film, which is an actively engaging examination of a family as they navigate a major crisis that will essentially see their ancestral home, and the surrounding land on which their entire familial history has been rooted, taken away from them as part of the ongoing cultural colonial process that comes about through modernization. This film is a deeply insightful exploration of cultural identity, as crafted by someone whose own history has been interwoven into this stunning portrait of a group of people, both young and old, that are presented with a set of obstacles that they realize will change the entire fabric of their existence, which results in a growing sense of disillusionment and despair in their previously straightforward, unfurnished lives. Simón has been orbiting around the apex of the contemporary European arthouse for a while, having worked on a range of productions in varying capacities, without getting any immediate recognition until now. Alcarràs is undeniably the film that is going to change that, since with this simple, evocative story of childhood and the virtue of living the simple life, something that far too many people take for granted, and which the director tenderly and elegantly explores throughout this dynamic and stunning film about the virtue of living a simple but fulfilling existence.

We tend to put too much stock into narrative structure, which is a concept that Alcarràs actively attempts to subvert. This is a film in which nothing much happens – there is certainly plot progression, as we see the passage of time, and characters progress forward in a way that clearly indicates that we are following their lives over a short period of time (what appears to be a few weeks in summer) – but yet there aren’t any discernible events that we can consider vital in the traditional sense. This is part of the charm and impact made by this film – it doesn’t need to spend too much of its time constructing scenarios in which something always needs to be happening, and where there are clear delineations of plot developments and arcs. These are useful in more conventional stories, but for Simón, the process is all about focusing on the individual moments, representing them in as rich and evocative a form as possible, which required a more delicate approach to piecing together individual scenes. Alcarràs is a film built around many different concepts, but it primarily begins with the recognition of the tranquillity of everyday life, the acknowledgement of the many people that function on the most simple, bare-boned necessities, avoiding all forms of excess (the reason for this varies – for some it is an intentional choice, for others simply because they cannot afford to live beyond the bare minimum, which is perfectly acceptable for many individuals that survive on as little as possible), and the film reflects this same sense of economic austerity. It represents a very specific kind of storytelling, where the emphasis is on the smallest details in relation to one another, and how they form a broader and more distinctive portrait of everyday life, and where the focus is constantly being drawn to the most fundamental components of existence on a much more restrained level, which is something that Simón seems to be particularly interested in exploring throughout the film.

The unfurnished nature of Alcarràs interweaves with another dominant theme, that of family, which is a concept that Simón frequently revisits throughout the narrative, forcing the camera to linger on these characters slightly longer than would be logical in many other instances. Nearly every character in this film falls under this extended group of working-class labourers, who have made their living through agriculture, their entire family being built on the principle of their annual harvest, from which their entire lives are dependent, which ultimately causes the central conflict of the film, whereby the threat of losing their land launches them into a state of existential dread, since this is all they have known for their entire life. It’s not surprising that the majority of the film takes place in natural settings – open fields surrounding their reservoir, the beautiful farmland that surrounds them, or the fruit orchard that serves as the epicentre of the family’s daily routine and overall life, being the location of both their labour and the place where they all interact, mingling with one another as they question their inner quandaries and come to terms with a reality that makes these moments all the more difficult, since they are temporary. This is a film in which the theme of roots is constantly utilized, in both senses of the word – we see a family struggling to understand why their entire life has to be shaken to the point of almost being entirely dismantled, and where their existence has been inspired by the pastoral simplicity of a life in agriculture, which is soon to be uprooted by those who don’t understand (or perhaps simply fail to appreciate) the history that defines such a place.

This last point is particularly intriguing in relation to the entirety of Alcarràs, which has a third theme, that of national and individual identity. The characters that matter in this film are not simply those who are tangible, but also those that have departed, lingering only as memories, evoked in the form of being mentioned in conversation, which is essentially the primary way any individual has their legacy kept alive. Each one of the characters at the heart of this film are grappling with their identity – they acknowledge that they are Spanish, and that (much like any modern nation), they have to accept change, or face being forcibly evicted from their very simple way of living, which happens quite literally in this film. The depiction of their home gradually being taken away from them – done through the growing presence of heavy machinery, and the general sense of sadness that only grows more potent as the film goes on – suggests that this is far from just a plot of land on which a family has spent years of their life. It is their ancestral home, the place where previous generations lived and died, created new memories and saw time go by. Through several major historical events, this house stood, with the occupants changing over time, but remaining bound to this place by virtue of their familial bond. It evokes a feeling of deep sadness to see these characters gradually realize that nothing they do can change the march of time and the inevitability of progress, and telling it mainly through a child’s perspective adds a level of innocence to the proceedings, showing how younger people react to such enormous change, and how even the most impressionable of people understand the scope of such a shift. 

Alcarràs is a film that has dual function – it is a celebration of familial identity and the bond that exists between groups, as well as being an elegy on the past, a sad and sobering examination of the reconciliation between history and the present, addressing issues of generational divides and the burden of carrying on a legacy that has to come to an end at some point. There is nothing particularly revolutionary about this film, which is nothing more than a well-crafted family drama in both form and content, looking at the lives of a group of individuals that are forced to learn the harsh realities of modern life, adapting to changes that many people have to face. Yet, it feels like such a revelation, an examination of deeper themes that are maintained with a precise and dedicated nuance that carries an immense amount of weight. This is all a result of the incredibly diverse and compelling authorial voice that is Simón, who makes quite an impression with this stunning realist drama. It’s a film that has already established her as an exciting and essential voice in contemporary Spanish cinema, and the audiences she has reached with this film have extended far beyond the specific socio-cultural milieux represented here. It’s a poignant, meaningful triumph, beautifully crafted by a director with a distinct vision and exceptional authorial voice, being one of the year’s most earnest dramas, and a film that will contribute to a growing body of simple but effective character-based narratives. Beautifully poetic and filled with gravitas and heartfulness, Alcarràs is an astonishing and striking film that moves at a slow but deliberate pace, and delivers some of the most endearing details of everyday life, all of it in vivid detail.