The Woman Who Weeps for the World: A Review of La Llorona (2019) | Dir. Jayro Bustamante

What’s in a curse, a haunting? La Llorona, the spectral “weeping woman” of Latin American folklore, revisits us on screen with her signature brand of trauma and pain from beyond the grave. Guatemalan filmmaker Jayro Bustamante seems to have spent much time listening to her wails. She comes to us calculated and poised, armed with a story terrifying beyond any mere apparition. The terror here is real life.

La Llorona fixes its gaze upon the family Monteverde. The patriarch, an aged General, is the subject of a trial of which is he accused of genocide against the native Mayan populus. The dark sunken eyes and curls of cigarette smoke, forming an aura around his fail frame is enough to cause unease. He is found guilty of his crimes against humanity, but he is released and allowed to go home, receiving care from his unwavering wife and daughter due to a technicality.

The many servants of the house winnow away as a growing crowd of restless protesters gathers outside the home of Monteverde. Smashed windows and the constant cries for justice begin to transform into something seemingly non-diegetic. For the Monteverde’s, wailings of pain from victims and their families seem more of an inconvenience. We know enough about Enrique Monteverde to realize he is a monster, so we, like the crowd outside his home, wait and pray for justice.

When justice arrives, it is without drama or climax. She comes, humbly. Alma embodies Bustamante’s Llorona, and while she mystifies us, she does not grant us the instant gratification of seeing our villain suffer. Instead, she gives herself over in servitude for him, becoming a maid. Alma is waiting, preparing her own employment of justice, served acutely, and all too fitting for the crime.

On paper, La Llorona is a horror movie. But the horror here does not come from some nether-realm of things that go bump in the night. The horror here comes from our plane and humanity’s consistent approach to negate human life for political gain. So, La Llorona comes to us like an angel, a chance to bless our world with a serving of justice that we could not provide ourselves.

Immediately Bestamante treats us to a visual banquet, one that, instead of being lavish, is reserved and contained. The framing is precise. The tracking shots are alluring, voyeuristic, ghastly. The sound design is proficient. All these things join together like a crowd wailing for justice to serve one essential principal purpose: the building of tension. Bustamante’s capable filmmaking invites us to take in the slow burn, and the climactic payoff is intensely emotional and necessary. The fantasm exacts her justice by forcing the villains to endure the heinous crimes they committed. But in the final moments of the film, when the frame is black, her wails linger. Her work is unfinished. Her work will always be unfinished until the day humanity takes accountability for itself, no longer relying on the otherworld to solve its problems.