Jayro Bustamante’s La Llorona is a ghost story for a nation haunted by its own unburied sins, a chilling parable whispered not in the shadows but in the stark light of a courtroom, in the echoing silence of a wealthy family’s mansion.
Bustamante masterfully weaves the familiar threads of the La Llorona myth – the weeping woman, the drowned children, the spectral wails – into a tapestry of contemporary Guatemalan trauma. The film doesn’t shy away from the brutal realities of the Guatemalan genocide, the systematic slaughter of indigenous Mayan communities. Instead, it confronts these horrors head-on, using the supernatural as a lens to examine the very real monsters that walk among us.
General Enrique Monteverde, a thinly veiled stand-in for former dictator Efraín Ríos Montt, is the film’s central figure. Accused of genocide, he’s acquitted on a technicality, a chilling echo of real-world injustices. Confined to his opulent home, surrounded by the ghosts of his victims – both literal and metaphorical – Monteverde becomes a symbol of impunity, a stark reminder of justice unrequited.
The film’s power lies not in cheap jump scares, but in its slow-burn tension, its suffocating atmosphere of dread. Bustamante expertly uses sound design – the dripping of water, the rustling of leaves, the mournful cries of La Llorona herself – to create a sense of unease that permeates every frame. The camera lingers on faces, capturing the subtle shifts in expression that betray the characters’ inner turmoil. We see the fear in the eyes of the indigenous housekeepers, the guilt gnawing at Monteverde’s conscience, the quiet determination of Alma, the young Mayan woman who becomes a silent witness to the family’s unraveling.
But La Llorona is more than just a political horror film. It’s a deeply human story about grief, loss, and the enduring power of memory. The film explores the intergenerational trauma that continues to haunt Guatemala, the wounds that refuse to heal. It’s a story about the struggle for justice and a fight to reclaim a stolen history.
While the film’s pacing may feel deliberately slow at times, this only serves to amplify the sense of dread. The long, unbroken shots, the quiet moments of reflection, allow the horror to seep into our bones, to linger long after the credits roll.
La Llorona is not an easy film to watch. It’s a film that demands our attention, that forces us to confront uncomfortable truths. But it’s also a film of immense power and beauty, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable horror and ghosts of the past that are never truly laid to rest.
I watched this as Andy and I will be talking about it soon on The Next Reel’s Film Podcast. Learn more and subscribe to the show here!. Members get to hear it early though so learn how to become a member and get early access to shows and more!