A young boy, Hatzín, (Hatzín Navarrete) is tasked with bringing the remains of his father back home. However, the nasty manufacturing industry has different plans for him. As he struggles to find his way back home, he will have to rely on his own strength and resilience to make it back in one piece. The Box that he carries with him weighs heavily on him–but he may just have what it takes to make it back alive.
I don’t mean this negatively, but I honestly don’t care too much about the narrative. Everything is well developed in this regard, however, the story isn’t what draws viewers into The Box, but rather it’s everything else. The setting, sound, cinematography, and Navarrete’s perfect demeanor play a role in bringing The Box to life, and each of these aspects refuse to relent throughout the duration of the film.
The Box immediately opens up to the sounds of banging, and while viewers aren’t initially sure what that banging is, they know that it’s loud and harrowing. It plays a pivotal role in setting the tone in the opening seconds of the film, and that tone transcends the rest of the film as a result. It’s so important to get things set up early, to give viewers some idea of where they will be headed throughout the rest of their journey–and Writer-Director Lorenzo Vigas does just that in the opening seconds of his film. The noise continues for what feels like minutes, never relenting, never giving viewers a chance to take a break from its powerful message. Hatzín is in pain, he’s suffering–and having viewers suffer along with him in that instance is the perfect way to throw them right into the film. Sound continues to work in favor of the film finding success, as it regularly reminds viewers of the hardships that Hatzín faces throughout The Box. It’s really the most impressive aspect of the entire film–and it never fails to strengthen the film as it drives forward.
In that same moment, as the loud banging echoes throughout rooms where viewers watch, the cinematography is at its best. The Box relies heavily on the ability of Sergio Armstrong to capture these moments of suffering and pain–and he proves himself early on in the film. With a close up of Hatzín’s feet as he kicks the wall, even more so that could have happened just with sound, viewers feel present within the film–with Hatzín. Every bit of the beautiful, but desolate landscape, the pain on Navarrete’s face, and everything in between, comes to life as a result of Armstrong’s prowess.
Each of these aspects of filmmaking lean on one another in order to find success. The sounds can’t survive without the cinematography, and vice versa. Without the ability of the location department to find the perfect places to set up shop, the severity of all that is The Box can’t ever come to be. Filmmaking is always a group effort, but It’s rare that you see that as clearly on screen as you do here in The Box.
Vigas outdoes himself with The Box, as he finds ways to blend every aspect of this filmmaking journey into one, beautiful work of art. He finds the best people to fill the roles on set and on screen, and he uses their talents to create something brilliant, beautiful, touching, and gut wrenching. Once again, I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen the team aspect of a film presented so vividly on screen–but The Box constantly reminds viewers of the work that went into developing this film, and it works wonderfully. From sound to casting, and setting to cinematography, every piece of this puzzle works exactly the way that it should, making The Box a massively impressive film from beginning to end.
Directed by Lorenzo Vigas.
Written by Paula Markovitch, Laura Santullo, & Lorenzo Vigas.
Starring Hernán Mendoza, Hatzín Navarrete, etc.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐/10
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