
Abel is an inscrutable figure, silent for many of the film's early scenes, but when he finally does open his mouth, the film shifts gears in an interesting way. The eldest son, noting that his father is absent, suddenly assumes the role of the man of the house, treating his siblings like his son and his daughter and talking to his mother as if she's his wife. There are some neat comedic moments as Abel makes disapproving comments about his older sister's choice of boyfriend, or demands silence at the breakfast table while he reads his paper, and Luna handles these exchanges effectively. However, the success of these scenes is primarily down to Christopher Ruíz-Esparza, who is note-perfect in his depiction of a 9 year-old child not just playing at being a grown-up, but actually believing he is a grown-up, and by the excellent Gidi as his anxious mother. She cautiously persuades her other children to play along with Abel's fantasy and see where it leads – she's just so relieved to see her child talking again.
It's a credulity-testing premise and I often wondered how far Luna could take it. Fortunately, within the tight confines of Abel's 82 minutes, he and co-screenwriter Augusto Mendoza have positioned their plot developments intelligently, shifting the tone or moving the film forward whenever it looks like it might be running thin. The arrival of Abel's father (José María Yazpik) after a two-year absence (he claims he was working in the US) further destabilises the family dynamic, and this stern patriarch is in no mood to be lenient with his young son's odd behaviour. Luna works the conflict between them well and finds emotional complexities in both their relationship and in the marriage between the two parents.
Luna only stumbles a few times, although considering the risky territory he ventures into (Abel attempts to fulfill a husband's duties in the bedroom, without really knowing what they are), such missteps are relatively scarce and minor. He tells his story at a confident, unhurried pace, and he builds towards a climax that brings a tangible sense of danger into Abel's fantasy. Only after the film did I appreciate how well Luna had developed the film's emotional register, balancing light and shade. Abel works as a comedy and a drama, as a touching portrait of a damaged family, and as a parable about the dangers of growing up too fast, but mostly it's notable as a fine calling card for a man who may as adept behind the camera as he is in front of it.
Read my interview with Diego Luna here