“A playful and intellectual exploration of humanity.”

There’s an unexpected beauty that comes with navigating the streets of a city in an entirely new country. The gradual process of becoming acclimated to the rhythm and pace of these places can be an extraordinary opportunity to step out of reality and momentarily embrace a different kind of life; if you’re lucky, you may also experience a more intimate journey of self-discovery, especially with the right frame of mind. So much of this is present in Sometimes Sadness, Sometimes Rebellion, the fourth film by María Aparicio, who follows Undefined Things with another labyrinthine voyage into the deepest recesses of the human condition. Here we find ourselves in the centre of bustling Madrid on a seemingly ordinary day, introduced to two characters: Dante, a researcher who frequents a local library, and Eva, a filmmaker who has recently attended a film festival in France and, in an effort to maximise her time in Europe, decides to take a short sojourn in Spain. They encounter one another by chance, and after the initial pleasantries between strangers (spurred on by their discovery that they are both Argentinian), they realise that there may have been something more drawing them to each other. This leads to a friendship between the pair gradually growing and revealing the inner complexities both carry with them. A playful and intellectual exploration of humanity through a very distinct social and cultural lens, Sometimes Sadness, Sometimes Rebellion is a quietly provocative work that attempts to peer beneath the surface of some impenetrable but essential topics, setting the stage for a poetic and tender existential drama.

At first it seems like Sometimes Sadness, Sometimes Rebellion is positioning itself as an intentionally complex and opaque piece, a challenging film in both concept and structure. However, there are various avenues the viewer can take to understanding what the director intended to say with this film. Ultimately it can all be reduced to the act of blurring the boundaries between art and philosophy, questioning if they are entirely separate from each other, or if they are more related than we may have initially imagined. The foundation of the film finds Aparicio crafting a delicate but complex portrait of a city and the people who live in it, whether permanently or on a temporary basis. The film follows two lonely souls as they encounter one another at an opportune moment when they both secretly crave some form of companionship, even if it is from a distance, and ultimately become important characters in each other’s individual stories. Art has a tendency to unite people, and through a series of deeply meaningful conversations, Dante and Eva tackle several topics, ranging from the broadest existential conundrums to the smallest, most intimate quandaries, each one treated with the same sense of attention, pondering the nature of existence through a series of evocative discussions. The film is ultimately trying to determine what motivates us to seek meaning in everyday life, and how observing the world can reveal unexpected patterns. It forces us to question whether these are merely coincidences or the manifestation of some deeper destiny. Art and philosophy weave together beautifully, particularly in how they both act as remedies for the feeling of displacement experienced by these characters, united in their desire to find some sense of belonging, which can be complicated when attempting to navigate a new country.

The complexity of Sometimes Sadness, Sometimes Rebellion may seem intimidating at a cursory glance, but as we are invited to accompany the protagonists on a metaphysical journey into their minds, we begin to see just how fascinating the director’s approach is, especially in handling these challenging ideas. Aparicio starts the film by employing the classical trope of the “meet-cute”, a staple of the romance genre in which two people come across each other by chance, but which turns out to be a serendipitous meeting. However, rather than falling in love, they find themselves connecting on a more intellectual level, discovering a kindred spirit in someone who was only a stranger a few hours before. As a robust character study built around complicated people navigating difficult emotions, the film is unexpectedly spry, with an effervescent quality that doesn’t distract from the dense intellectual ideas at its core, but rather adds to the unique tone of the film. Credit also must go to Eva Bianco and Roger Koza, whose performances as Eva (who we had previously met in the director’s film Undefined Things) and Dante, are truly extraordinary, playing individuals seeking meaning in a world that seems too confusing for them to ever understand. The actors not only handle the dialogue (consisting of long, complex conversations) exceptionally well, but also demonstrate a remarkable aptitude at the more subtle elements of these performances. Sometimes Sadness, Sometimes Rebellion is a film in which every gesture and expression tells a story, with meaning lingering behind every movement, making these two of the most authentic, compelling performances of the year, underlining all the fascinating themes embedded in the film.

Much like its title, Sometimes Sadness, Sometimes Rebellion is a film composed of ideas that are not directly explained, but instead left to interpretation. This is an act of artistic expression in which part of the experience comes in discussing and debating its core themes, as evidenced in the coda where we step away from the central narrative, and focus instead on half a dozen other characters (primarily representing the diaspora of various cultures). Their stories may not be as extensively explored as those of Dante and Eva, but are still fascinating in their own way, because of what they ultimately represent. This ties directly to the film’s core thesis statement, which is that philosophy is not only restricted to the hallowed corridors of academic institutions or the dust-covered archives that tend to be inhospitable to outsiders. Every one of us is capable of being philosophers in our own way. Whether looking at the story of the two protagonists, or hearing the testimonies in this epilogue (all of which come together to form a vivid humanistic mosaic), it is clear that this film is about the universal experience of wandering through life without any clear direction, and seeking answers to questions we don’t even know how to ask. Ultimately, it is not a matter of making sense of life, but rather learning to surrender to its unpredictability and finding meaning in the smallest moments. Carved with gentle, quiet honesty that contrasts beautifully with the intellectual themes that find poetry in the banality of everyday life, Sometimes Sadness, Sometimes Rebellion attempts to condense the entirety of the human condition into a single, simple narrative, and somehow manages to come very close to succeeding in this ambitious endeavour.