Summer 1993

The film confronts directly the contradictory feelings and impulses of a child who must assimilate into a new family, but Simón foregoes the bells and whistles of many other family melodramas, crafting instead an extraordinary and beautiful work of grief and memory.

Ms. Simón, who has used both of her young performers to powerful effect, also wants us to know how resilient children can be. Some creatures are able to grow new limbs. Frida, given more than half a chance after demanding it, achieves something no less remarkable. She grows new joy and hope.

Summer of 1993 does what movies do so well (and yet so rarely do), which is to let viewers see the world through the eyes of another.

Anchored by a pair of extraordinary child performances and titled like something you’d scrawl fondly under a faded photograph in a well-thumbed album, Summer 1993 is a delicately brushed memory of confusion and joy, as if the movie itself can only smile awkwardly — and eventually, tearfully — as it looks back trying to make sense of it all.

Summer 1993 reveals itself to us as if it were a scrapbook of memories tumbling forth. Some are clearer than others, yet the movie retains a subjective, childlike point of view.

This is not a film for children, but the camerawork and the emotional undercurrents most often evoke the physical viewpoint, level of understanding and sensory processes of a child. We as adults must deduce the film’s most crucial pieces of information as they fly over Frida’s head.

Childhood memoirs always are under threat from self-indulgence and sentimentality, but 1993 successfully sidesteps both, establishing Simon as a talent to watch.

This film captures the grief of Frida. You feel part of the story as it is very realistic. The scenes and situations are very common, so you can identify with the characters.

@ CIFF 42 a child's perspective of loss of her family and how she copes with a new family and little sister. Two wonderful child actors sell the film. A hint of danger

Carla Simón, a promising voice in Spanish cinema. 'Summer 1993' is the kind of film that builds itself through calm observation—through glances, silences, and small gestures that gradually accumulate meaning. I must admit that its opening felt somewhat difficult to enter. Not because it is poorly constructed, but because it does not immediately spark curiosity. Instead, it unfolds quietly, almost timidly, asking the viewer for a certain willingness to embrace patience and contemplation. During those first minutes, I found myself waiting for a reason to become emotionally involved. Still, I decided to give it that opportunity many films need in order to reveal their true intentions. Little by little, its nature begins to emerge. The story centers on a young girl who has lost her parents and who, despite her age, is fully aware of that absence. The drama is explored not through overt emotional outbursts, but through silences, gestures, and the behavior of its protagonist, portrayed by Laia Artigas. It is a drama that does not cry, nor does it try to make the audience cry. From my perspective, it is above all a story of adaptation: the process by which a child attempts to reorganize not only her own world, but also the world around her, after a loss far too great for someone so young. Certain attitudes and situations can feel uncomfortable. At times, the protagonist seems to manipulate circumstances, perhaps as part of that fragile process of regaining control. What I find particularly interesting is that the film does not simply invite us to judge the girl—though I admit I often did—but also to confront the emotional consequences of what she has experienced. Moments of tenderness alternate with moments of discomfort and a quiet sadness that runs through the story like an undercurrent. Inevitably, I found myself thinking: poor child, everything she must have endured to react this way. That sense of emotional fragility becomes the beating heart of the film. Much of that emotional weight comes from the remarkable performance of Laia Artigas. Her work carries almost the entire dramatic core of the film. What is most striking is her ability to provoke very different reactions throughout the story. At times she feels exasperating, even unpleasant—especially in her interactions with Anna, played by Paula Robles. Yet those reactions feel completely authentic, because they emerge from a place that feels deeply human. It often feels as if the child is living the experience rather than performing it. These are performances that do not seek to please the audience, but rather to reveal the contradictions and impulses that naturally belong to a child’s way of seeing the **** adult environment surrounding the protagonist also plays a fundamental role. Bruna Cusí and David Verdaguer portray two parental figures rich in nuance. Their presence is deeply comforting: patient, affectionate, yet fragile in the face of the challenge of raising a child marked by grief. Their characters generate immediate empathy and help maintain the delicate emotional balance that sustains the film. This was my first time watching something directed by Carla Simón. Although it is her feature film debut, I had heard her name mentioned before. Here she creates an atmosphere that moves gently between calm and contained desperation. It is a cinema of observation and feeling, where the environment and emotions develop gradually through small details. There are no grand dramatic explosions—only a steady accumulation of moments that ultimately form an intimate portrait of childhood and loss. It leaves me curious to see more of her work. If she continues exploring themes like these, she may well become one of the most compelling voices in contemporary Spanish cinema. In general terms, it is a film that I liked, although for much of its runtime I felt a certain emotional distance. Not disinterest exactly, but rather a soft kind of indifference that sometimes appears when a film is experienced more as observation than full emotional immersion. There were moments when I briefly disconnected, though never entirely—and perhaps I did not want to. The final images, however, carry an unexpected emotional force. Suddenly, everything the film had kept in relative silence begins to resonate. Not noise in a negative sense—rather a release. In that moment I felt something very specific: my heart tightening for an instant. A contained emotion. I did not cry, but I did have to hold back a tear. Perhaps that is the greatest strength of Estiu 1993. Together with the work of Carla Simón and her cast, it builds a sincere emotional experience without ever becoming pretentious. Even from a certain distance, it ultimately finds a way to reach something deeply human within me.

One of the major advantages of having a theatre like The Classic Gateway Theatre is that you get to see most of the independent films and will come across a stunner now and then but that is not the case with “Summer 1993”. Based on the true story of the director and screenwriter of the movie Carla Simon we follow 6-year-old Frida (Laia Artigas), upon the death of her mother and father, sent to live with her mother’s brother Esteve (David Verdaguer), his wife Marga (Bruni Cusi) and their 3-year-old child Anna (Paula Robles). We watch Frida as she adjusts, or doesn’t, to her new life and how her new family adjusts or doesn’t, to this addition into their home. Unable to understand or vocalize her pain Frida lashes out in awkward, sometimes dangerous and, other times, bewildering ways. I missed an important factor in the movie which is primarily explained in the title and the last 2-3 minutes of the film which became obvious about a few incidents that take place in the movie. I don’t usually give spoilers in film reviews and I won’t here but I am more surprised that I didn’t catch on to this. In spite of that disclosure, I didn’t find “Summer 1993” interesting enough to recommend it though Laia Artigas as Frida gives a natural performance and you can feel what she doesn’t seem to be able to express.