Hatzín Leyva (Hatzín Navarrete) is a boy barely in his teens and has to travel alone to Mexico City to retrieve the remains of his father who died in a manufacturing accident.  On his way back to his grandmother’s house, he sees a man, Mario Enderle (Hernán Mendoza) who bears an uncanny resemblance to the boy’s late father.  Convinced that the factory has made a mistake and that Mario is his father, Hatzín follows Mario and in doing so, his eyes are opened to the brutal and inhumane working conditions hundreds of people, like his father, just trying to earn an honest living, are subject to every day. 

Lorenzo Vigas directs The Box, from a script he co-wrote with Paula Markovitch and Laura Santullo.  After an acclaimed festival run in which it was nominated for the Golden Lion at the 2021 installment of the Venice Film Festival and put forward as Venezuela’s submission to the 95th Academy Awards, The Box found its widest state-side release as part of Mubi’s Spotlight.  It is a touching and harrowing coming-of-age drama that feels almost like a distant cousin to last year’s Identifying Features (2021) from Fernanda Valadez, but instead of focusing on immigration as a way to secure a better life, Vigas turns his lens on those that remain in their home countries.  What is notable about this examination when compared to other films that strive to showcase the struggles of the everyman is that Vigas never treats the film like a poverty tour and always allows his characters to maintain their dignity. Our empathy for them is forged through more human-focused means and not due to outside forces. 

Leading the film in his only credited role to date, Navarrete brings the sense of realism that is often sought by directors who hire first-time actors to really get a feel for the world of the film, but he feels so natural in front of the camera that his performance is not jarring or distracting as often happens when the casting is done in an open call in a small town.  This is no small feat, present in almost every scene in the 92-minute film, and with a cyclical first act that finds Hatzín circling Mario and getting rejected as the man’s agitation grows with each new discovery of the boy having followed him.  The challenge for the young actor only increases as The Box is devoid of a score that does the emotional heavy lifting, instead relying on the diegetic soundscape which, while evocative in its own way, still requires Navarrete to lead audiences through this journey of moral corruption in the pursuit of something pure through the scope and power of his performance alone. Once the film careens into the second act and the relationship between him and Mario begins to grow warmer, the young actor is able to build up a considerable amount of empathy as there is always a sadness and sorrow behind his eyes, and the few times the script does allow him to smile, it fills the frame with a unique joy and light. 

Mendoza, to his credit, is a very giving actor even in such a guarded role. Mario is an understandably frustrated character having his flow of life constantly interrupted by Hatzín, so the two do not get off on the right foot, however, Mario still shows compassion on the boy who is far from home, just lost his father, and is seeking some kind of relationship with him in his grief and confusion. The boy’s consistency pays off as Mario allows Hatzín to join him on recruitment trips for the local factories. What blossoms from this has the initial appearance of a tender mentorship as Mario fills the role of a father figure, something absent from Hatzín’s life, but as more and more lies and secrets come about from both parties, this relationship reveals itself to be far more transactional. 

The film takes a very dark turn in the later parts of the narrative and the script asks a lot of Navarrete who excels in an understated and reserved performance.  As a story, the wonderfully layered and slow-to-reveal structure is captivating throughout as the issues of trust weigh heavy on the motivations of the characters.  As an audience, however, we never feel like we are lost in the narrative despite the unreliability and the secrets held by the characters.  When the third act finally unfolds, it does so giving way to an incredibly upsetting story, but it does not feel unnecessarily cruel or like it is weaponizing the situation these characters have found themselves in against us. They are both the victims and the criminals in this twisted situation, motivated out of love – for Hatzín towards Mario, and for Mario towards his family at home – and the damage they cause in pursuit of that love is just the unfortunate yet necessary collateral. 

The Box is one of those rare films that worms its way into the minds of audiences long after the credits roll, not due to bombastic set pieces or special effects, but because of the total commitment of the cast and crew to telling a simple yet important story. Vigas and his writing team are careful not to reveal too much too early, and the patient audience is rewarded with a harrowing look at the damning effects that fear can have on a community. In this instance, there is a shade of xenophobia that directs the actions of Mario and his team as they recruit on the notion that soon the Chinese factories will prove cheaper and faster labor and the local businesses will all dry up, stranding the community if they are not willing to put in the labor necessary to please the masters. Once that notion is established, this story about a lost boy and a surrogate father takes a very sinister turn and Hatzín finds himself a cog in the capitalist machine who will, for lack of a better word, sell his soul for the protection of Mario, and more importantly, Mario’s enterprise. It is a bleak outlook, but one so unfortunately true, that finds the youth of society as the ones who have to pick up the pieces of their promised future which has been shattered by the people in power. In Hatzín’s case, he is failed not only by the government and industry, but by Mario’s own lies, and his own future, the likes of which is not going to be measured in prosperity, but rather just the securing of a baseline of existence, is at risk of being irreparably damaged because unlike the factories which took his father’s life, Hatzín is not afforded that same safety net to brush away his shortcomings and keep moving forward. It is a story that, in a way, ends back where it began, but Hatzín is not without growth, and his arc is what keeps us engaged in this simple story of a boy just looking for guidance in the absence of his father.