Set in Spain, “La bola negra” (2026) or “The Black Ball” (think black balled) follows three men (in order of appearance), Sebastián (Guitarricadelafuente) in 1937 Santander, Carlos Rodriguez Sequera (Milo Quifes) in 1932 Grenada, and Alberto Lopez Alcuna (Carlos González) in 2017 Madrid leaving viewers to wonder how they connect to each other aside from being gay. Conscripted into enlisting for Nationalist, fascist, pro-Mussolini forces during the Spanish Civil War, Sebastián’s job is to guard a gorgeous Republican prisoner, Rafael Rodríguez Rapún (Miguel Bernardeau), who keeps trying to escape or commit suicide, so he does not reveal any secrets to the enemy. Before the war, Carlos fails to get accepted into a members only casino, which his close, revolutionary-minded friends do not mind, but his father (Antonio de la Torre) insists that he try again, which would mean denying the truth about himself. Alberto, a former playwright turned historian, has a turbulent relationship with his abusive mother, Teresa (Lola Dueñas), which does not improve when he gets a call that he inherited something from her father. Like “Resurrection” (2025), “La bola negra is the kind of movie that you will want to see again immediately after finishing it, but it is far more approachable. Movie goers forearmed with knowledge of the Spanish Civil War, the real life people behind a couple of characters, Federico Garcia Lorca’s unfinished 1936 play and Alberto Conejero’s 2013 play, “La piedra oscura,” will see the plot twists coming, but even so, the narrative structure and epic scope revolving around the concept of untold stories and personal revolution feels germane in a world that seems to want to reverse the clock and return to the bad old days. Who are these three men, and what are they hiding?
The most predictable part of “La bola Negra” is the opening, which features a tragic “I never thought the leopards would eat MY face” sequence, which introduces Sebastián, a trumpeter (intentional choice of instrument?) and the king of bad decisions. He manages to consistently and barely survive whether it is inviting people to the wrong place at the wrong time, choosing the worst side, sleeping near the road instead of a less conspicuous place or falling for his prisoner, but it feels as if the clock is ticking, and he will run out of luck. Guitarricadelafuente is completely believable as a man who keeps forgetting that he is supposed to be cosplaying a straight soldier because his life literally depends on it. If his character’s storyline is giving “The Night Porter” (1974), think again. (Here is a review from a critic who hates this film and is unaware of the referenced controversial film, but is worth reading and is a thought provoking, more informed counterbalance to my ignorant American view.) This relationship is much more tender, innocent, chaste and tragic. Think star crossed lovers. He is just discovering who he is, and it does not help that everywhere he turns, a bunch of men at the height of their beauty are naked. He looks, but does not touch, and his yearning is more than sexual as evinced from going backstage to meet a performer, Nené Romero (Penélope Cruz), entertaining his fellow troops. The gorgeous Riccardo (Lorenzo Zurzolo), a fellow soldier from Italy, comes in bully veneer but seems to have a protective intent towards Sebastián. Bernardeau’s work is deeply nuanced because he could veer into an unrealistic martyr, but he keeps depicting Rafael as a human being, which grounds the entire period.
Carlos’ story is more fanciful because it is unclear what he really wants, but Quifes moves through the plot as if it completely made sense, which also speaks to codirectors and cowriters (Los Javis) Javier Ambrossi and Javier Calvo’s confidence in their movie and ability to convey it to their collaborators. While each individual story is told chronologically, it is edited thematically and jumps between different eras, which may cause confusion for the audience since two of the characters dwell in close proximity timewise. He has the most conventional, affluent lif, and is embedded in a nuclear family, but all he wants to do is dance and eyefuck a bunch of sailors sunning themselves along the beach. Flirty drunk Enrique (Hugo Welzel) and openly gay Lorenzo (Mario Silcva) console him, but another acquaintance with fascist leanings is eager for the tacit permission of fascism to exercises his violent homophobic fantasies without reprisal.
It is no surprise that the 2017 sequence is more relatable, and the writing is so grounded and authentic that it gives a nice palette cleanser to the audience from the lyrical Carlos sequences and the dramatic war sequences. Apparently, everyone used to be hot in the old days, but the 2017 sequence features more people who do not look as if they are a shoo-in for appearing on the glossy pages of a mainstream magazine. Compared to the characters from the Thirties, Alberto is living their wildest dreams. He has a perfect boyfriend, Juan Pablo (Julio Torres, “Problemista”), has a whole host of queer friends whom he can socialize with openly and engage with queer culture and history instead of hiding his scholarly interests and indulging them surreptitiously in an underground market. Alberto does not have a perfect life. For a second, it seemed as if Juan Pablo is a friend and roommate because Alberto goes online to find a quick fling. Then there is the relationship with his mother.
“La bola negra” never reveals why Alberto maintains the relationship with his mother other than that it is the societal default. He finds her exhausting and is the mature one of the two. Even though Dueñas plays a thoroughly unlikable character and a liar, she also manages to make her character sympathetic if only by the skin of her teeth. Dueñas knows how to behave horrifically while simultaneously revealing her character’s pain and using her son to vent her anger at the past. During one of their conversations, she claims that she never abused him, but during two of the three times that they are together, she uses objects to hit him and blames him the first time. Without explicitly revealing details, Theresa’s past is obvious, and in some ways, she is trying to protect Alberto from becoming like her. Notice that she does not bring her bag to the bathroom in her last restaurant scene.
The 2017 storyline also features a naturalistic, leave-them-wanting-more performance from Yenesi, who plays Goyita, Alberto’s tour guide and bridge to his maternal grandfather’s world. Goyita’s dialogue and Yenesi’s delivery is so organic as she talks to the local elderly people and humors them without being patronizing. Also, Glenn Close makes a pivotal cameo as Isabelle Durand, an American scholar who uncovers queer history, and acts in Spanish. Penélope Cruz delivers a career best performance as Nené Romero, a woman entertaining the troops, but like two of the three main characters, is masking her true sentiments to survive. This sequence spells everything out so pay attention. “La bola negra” gets to have its cake and eat it too with a wealth of women characters who are written and depicted as three dimensional, but whose function is limited to helping Alberto and the other characters fulfill their destiny.
“La bola negra” is ultimately about the ways that it is more acceptable in society for men to touch each other to inflict harm than show love. Historically and even now, gay people have not been able to live freely, and even if they have, their stories get buried as they were in life. Two of the three main characters, four if you include a main supporting character, betray themselves and side with their enemy at least in spirit out of obedience to superficial heteronormativity instead of choosing the love of their lives. The connection between the three characters is the part of them that they have not betrayed as it is protected and carried forward into the future when it is finally safe enough to see the light without immediately being destroyed as they were. Unfortunately, we are living in an era when it does not feel safe again.
“La bola negra” is the kind of movie that benefits from repeat viewings: once to get the lay of the land and the second time to feel and savor it. When you get to the revelation, if you are not crying for the rest of the runtime and beyond, then see it again. It is a revolutionary idea of a two-sided resistance against Franco, not hiding Republicans, a crucial bit of spy craft intelligence or money, but something more valuable, and apparently, it has roots in reality. One of the two becomes a resistance fighter and a double agent in many ways. Also, Spanish filmmakers have always had one of the most visually arresting representations of death as unsettling but also familiar and majestic. Los Javis’ take on the afterlife feels like a perfect double feature would be “Everest: The Other Side” (2026) with an Old Testament like location, but unfamiliar enough in imagery to feel new yet instinctual since death is cold. Timing really is everything.
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There is a sequence when Sebastián is watching Nené entertain, and the editor briefly shows his point of view with him watching a man play the trumpet better than he ever has in the whole movie. This nameless man is living his dream. It is not just about crushing on Rafael, but an entire life that he imagined that he could not have because of lack of talent, opportunity and timing. In his time, Nené cannot even run away and join the theater. It is no longer a refuge. The world is dying. Throughout “La bola Negra,” everything that makes the fabric of the world that Sebastián yearns to join is gone: writers, actors, performers. Even decades later, Alberto is the dream, but even he is not the beginning of a resurgence in theater. Fascism destroys lives and art, and it is so perfect that this story finds a nexus point in those two areas as a form of resistance. The final scene is an image of the first opportunity for healing the wounds of the Spanish Civil War, homophobia, etc. It is gripping to think that it took three generations to breathe, and knowing what is to come, they are not truly in the clear.
