Olivia review – unhurried, painterly fable about loss aims to expose the meaning of grief

Argentinian director Sofía Petersen’s film *Olivia* presents a slow, painterly exploration of loneliness and grief set against the stark landscape of Tierra del Fuego. The narrative follows Olivia, portrayed by Tina Sconochini, a young woman living with her elderly widower father in a remote hut. After her father goes missing, Olivia embarks on a quiet, ghostlike search for him, wandering through a desolate abattoir where she encounters a woman named Mari, who becomes a tender, ambiguous figure in her life. The film employs a deliberate, unhurried pace characteristic of slow cinema, with extended shots on 16mm film that emphasize still life compositions and close-ups of mundane objects like spoons and watch faces. While this approach aims to evoke the weight of grief and loss, critics have found the film to be formless and inert, often submerged in a heavy, unlit gloom that obscures its thematic intentions. Olivia’s apparent narcolepsy and childlike demeanor add to the film’s dreamlike, surreal atmosphere, though they also contribute to a sense of detachment and unreality. *Olivia* was well-received at the Locarno film festival, where its meditative style and visual poetry were noted. However, some viewers find its slow narrative and symbolic gestures, such as the abattoir employees urging Olivia to accept the past, to be exasperating and opaque. The film’s tone resembles a funeral ceremony—serious and solemn but also baffling and dispiriting—reflecting the complex, often ineffable nature of grief. Despite its challenging execution, *Olivia* attempts to probe the emotional terrain of loss through a minimalist and enigmatic cinematic language.