Despite usually being associated with the carefree days of youth and the lack of proper responsibilities placed on us, childhood is not a particularly easy time, and the moment we start to take notice of the world around us is when our journey towards realizing some of life’s most challenging obstacles are waiting for us, even if they can’t comprehend their scope. This is what the protagonist in Lila Avilés’ Tótem has to face when she arrives at her grandfather’s house, ready to celebrate her father’s birthday with a big party. What should be a day of joy and celebration is filled with melancholy and tension, since her father is rapidly deteriorating through the process of battling aggressive cancer that everyone seems to realize means that his time is limited, and as a result, the entire family does their best to distract from what is possibly going to be his final birthday – however, none of them can do anything other than surrender to the emotions that begin to swirl immediately, and become complicit in the rising tension that simmers between them as they plan for what is ultimately going to be a much more difficult event than they imagined. Through all of this, we have our protagonist, who is at that age where she can recognize when something is amiss but is not nearly old enough to understand it or comprehend the scope of what is about to be an imminent tragedy that befalls her family. A beautiful and tender drama that is not afraid to expand on some very bleak emotions where it is necessary, Tótem is one of the year’s best films and serves to be a strong follow-up to The Chambermaid, the director’s previous film that also presented a very strong depiction of Mexican culture through the perspective of a complex protagonist. Avilés is a remarkable talent, and her fascinating approach to complex themes is fully demonstrated in this film, which proves to be a profoundly moving affair that navigates challenging territory and becomes profoundly more complex the further we dive into its world.

The concept of the child protagonist has persisted for about as long as literature has been written since there is something profoundly compelling about looking at the world through the uncorrupted eyes of those who don’t quite understand the true scope of reality. Tótem is a film that has many different characters, but it is the young Solecita who is our protagonist, the person who serves as our guide through this chaotic and emotional journey. We follow her over a single day, peering into her world like invited voyeurs, observing the preparations for a party that is steeped in sadness, being falsely viewed as a celebration when in reality it is one of several ways of bidding farewell to someone whose life is ending much sooner than it should. Her character is one defined by purity and curiosity – she understands that her father is sick, but doesn’t quite understand the severity of his condition, and all she desires is to see him, something that is frequently denied to her with the refrain of “he’s resting”, which starts to stir up the realization that what he is going through may be more serious than what she imagined. It’s a complex subject, and in choosing to focus on these ideas as understood and decoded by someone barely old enough to navigate such harsh realizations, the director makes a profound statement on the fickle nature of life, and how some events force children to grow up much sooner than many would prefer – but unfortunately, some parts of life are unavoidable, and while the family does their best to shield her from the truth as far as possible, or at least presents it to her in a way that is much more sensitive to what a child can understand, the atmosphere begins to erode her sense of childlike wonder, and by the end of the film, Solecita has come to a heartbreaking realization after spending the day picking up contextual clues and eventually putting them together in what is perhaps one of the most heartwrenching cinematic moments of the past year.

The entirety of Tótem mainly depends on the actors to deliver this story, since the fact that it takes place over a single day and in one location means that a lot of exposition has been elided, and every bit of context we glean comes from the characters. The cast is uniformly strong, and casting lesser-known actors or newcomers lends the film a sense of authenticity, almost as if we are peering into the life of a real family. Avilés cobbles together an ensemble cast, each one of them playing an integral role in the development of the story, which is much more complex than we initially may have anticipated based on a cursory glance. However, this is an instance where the adult actors take a secondary role since it is Naíma Sentíes as Solecita who anchors the film. We often find that child performances are usually acclaimed when they meet the bare minimum since there is a perception that a younger actor conveying authenticity and not making it extremely clear that they are acting is a major achievement. Sentíes not only achieves this but does so with such genuine complexity, that we have to wonder how they managed to extract such a complex, nuanced performance from such a young actor without any prior experience. She is truly a natural performer, and she commands the screen with her subtle, quiet performance that simmers with intensity and complexity, enough to propel this entire film. However, this isn’t to disregard the supporting cast – everyone is exceptional, whether it the woman playing the protagonists’ mother, aunts or other notable female figures in her life, or Mateo Garcia Elizondo as her father (who only enters the film properly in the third act, the director intentionally keeping him in the shadows for most of the story), the film is filled with memorable performances from a strong cast that develop these individuals and helps characterize them in fascinating and nuanced ways, creating complex people who come across as entirely authentic and contribute to the genuine tone that pushes this film forward.

Both structurally and thematically, Tótem is a profoundly challenging film for several reasons, and a lot of its brilliance comes from how the director creates a distinct atmosphere. On the surface, we may imagine this to be another overwrought story of a child learning that a loved one may not be with them for much longer, which alludes quite heavily to the category of social realism, something that has influenced Avilés to a considerable extent. However, she is not one to follow conventions too closely, and while this film is certainly clearly formed in such a way that the same emotions are evoked, the structure is slightly more unique. The story takes place over a single day (or perhaps more appropriately, several hours, starting with Solecita’s arrival at the party, and ending at the celebration’s peak), which is both artistically quite resonant, since the director isn’t able to use editing to create a broader narrative and thus has to contain all these emotions in a more compressed form, and contributes a great deal to the narrative itself, which is bold and complex, but also extremely compelling in subtle ways. The most important responsibility that the director had to take on was preventing an inauthentic accumulation of emotions – this is a challenging subject, but one that needed to be navigated with tact and sophistication, to prevent it from crumbling into yet another overly-manipulative drama about the disease and the challenges of losing a loved one. The film’s oscillation between different perspectives allows it to explore different emotions, which breaks the monotony and prevents the story from dwelling too long on a particular moment – but it ultimately all circles back to focusing on our protagonist dealing with her growing sense of curiosity, as well as the realization that something isn’t quite right, which leads to a stunning conclusion that could have very easily been heavy-handed, but is masterfully handled by the director, who infuses the right amount of emotion and complexity into a very simple but profoundly challenging concept.

Complex and poetic in ways that may be surprising, but never anything less than wholeheartedly engaging in a way that is daring and sometimes even slightly provocative, Tótem is as close to a masterpiece as we can get with this material, and while it can be slightly heavy-handed in some parts, it is still quite subtle where it matters. There isn’t any ideal way to discuss a topic like cancer, and how it can be the impetus for an entire family to fall apart, since not only is the eventual loss the subject of a lot of dread and anxiety, but the process of seeing a loved one decline to the point where they are merely a shadow of themselves can take a psychological toll on even the most resilient of people – and if we take all of this and filter it through the eyes of a child, who may not understand the specifics or even the nature of the crisis, but knows that something is not quite right, we get a film that is even more heartbreaking, since we are observing someone watch their father fade away, not understanding the extent of his disease or why those around him are so hesitant to speak about his condition, but still knowing that she is losing someone. The film is a poignant and deeply melancholy affair, and it never avoids those inevitable emotions. We may be spared the harshest moments in this family’s experience with the gradual loss of a loved one (we are not present for the initial terminal diagnosis, nor his eventual death – we are only there for a brief moment, sharing a single day with these characters), but even within the timeframe that we do observe these people, many aspects are deeply upsetting, which Avilés chooses to portray as objectively as possible, using the camera to tell the story rather than the narrative itself. A beautiful and compelling family drama about the very narrow boundary between life and death, and an honest depiction of the experience of gradually losing someone, Tótem is an extraordinary piece of filmmaking, and another example of the director’s steadfast, nuanced talents at tackling challenging subject matter with tact and elegance.