Ema (2019)
Pablo Larraín has spent the better part of two decades becoming one of the most distinctive voices in world cinema, building a filmography that returns again and again to power, identity, and the kind of grief that refuses to resolve neatly. His earlier work, the so-called Pinochet trilogy (Tony Manero, Post Mortem, No), established him as a chronicler of Chile under dictatorship, but by the time he made Neruda and Jackie in 2016, it was clear he was after something broader: the psychology of people caught inside histories, public or private, that are larger than themselves. Ema, released in 2019 and produced through the Chilean company Fabula (the same outfit behind several of the country's most significant exports of recent years), marks something of a departure in mood and texture. Where earlier Larraín films were cool and measured, Ema arrives loud, saturated, and deliberately destabilising. It played at Venice, where it divided opinion more or less straight down the middle, which, given its subject matter, feels entirely appropriate. If you have already read the site's review of El Conde (2023), you will have a reasonable sense of how Larraín likes to use heightened, artificial stylisation as a way of approaching subjects that realism would flatten.
The film centres on Ema, a young dancer in a reggaeton troupe in Valparaíso, whose marriage to the troupe's older choreographer is falling apart in the wake of a devastating decision involving an adopted child. That premise alone puts the film in uncomfortable territory before a single frame has played, and Larraín, working from a script co-written with Guillermo Calderón, has no interest in making that discomfort manageable. The score is by Nicolas Jaar, whose work here is pulsing and relentless in equal measure, and the cinematography by Sergio Armstrong turns coastal Chilean streets and rehearsal spaces into something close to a fever dream. The production is not lavish by Hollywood standards, but every creative decision is pointed and considered, the kind of filmmaking where you get the sense that nothing is accidental.
The cast is led by Mariana Di Girolamo, a Chilean actress who had not carried a major feature before this and who throws herself into a role that makes few concessions to audience goodwill. Opposite her is Gael García Bernal, a name well known to anyone with an interest in Latin American cinema (his early career work, including The Motorcycle Diaries, made him one of the most watchable actors of his generation), here playing a man whose authority and vulnerability sit in uneasy proximity to one another. Santiago Cabrera, Paola Giannini, and Cristián Suárez round out a cast that, taken together, suggests a world of relationships in various states of negotiation or outright collapse. Di Girolamo and Bernal share scenes that feel genuinely charged rather than performed, which matters enormously in a film whose drama is almost entirely emotional and psychological. It is also worth noting, for those with an appetite for Chilean cinema more broadly, that the anarchic, unsettling spirit of The Wolf House occupies a similar cultural moment, even if the two films could hardly be more different in form.
Ema (2019), directed by Pablo Larrain, is a hypnotic, neon-drenched psychosexual drama that trades narrative comfort for raw emotional friction. The film follows a Chilean reggaeton dance troupe co-led by a choreographer and his much younger wife, Ema, whose marriage fractures after they return an adopted son whose antisocial behaviour (including arson) proves too destabilising to manage. What begins as a strained domestic collapse quickly spirals into a visceral exploration of desire, control, and consequence. Larrain wraps the story in a dazzling sensory package: pulsating synth scoring elevates every sequence into an emotive crescendo, while the saturated cinematography turns Santiago’s streets and rehearsal studios into a dreamlike, almost club-like hellscape. The style isn’t just decorative; it’s psychological, mirroring the chaotic, seductive world the characters inhabit.
The film’s greatest strength (and its most deliberate challenge) lies in its performances. Gael Garcia Bernal delivers a quietly magnetic, criminally underrated turn as the wounded but controlling husband, carrying the emotional gravity of the story with remarkable restraint. Opposite him, Mariana Di Girolamo commits fully to a protagonist who is intentionally, almost defiantly unlikeable. Ema is mean, selfish, deeply childish, and emotionally volatile, yet the film refuses to soften her or manufacture sympathy. She’s less a traditional lead and more a force of chaotic impulse, making choices that are as self-destructive as they are compelling. Larrain doesn’t moralise; he observes. The result is a tense, often uncomfortable character study that echoes the psychological rawness of films like The Fire and other intimate portraits of fractured relationships, where love, toxicity, and grief blur into something indistinguishable. It also somewhat evokes similarities with films like Lilya 4-ever.
Make no mistake: Ema is a deeply pessimistic, at times suffocating watch. There’s very little warmth, and the narrative’s refusal to offer redemption or clear moral grounding will alienate viewers seeking catharsis or likable protagonists. But that’s precisely what makes it work on its own terms. It’s a film that doesn’t ask you to root for Ema; it asks you to sit in the heat of her choices.
Ema is a boldly stylised, emotionally abrasive drama that thrives on its own contradictions. It’s undeniably depressing, often hopeless, and anchored by a deliberately unsympathetic lead, yet its technical brilliance, fearless character work, and unflinching gaze make it impossible to dismiss. Not for everyone, but for those willing to lean into its intensity, it’s a captivating, unforgettable piece of modern cinema.
Ema is the sort of film that tends to sort audiences into clear camps fairly quickly, and the 107-minute runtime will feel either brisk or interminable depending on how much patience you have for moral ambiguity worn loudly on its sleeve. What is not in question is the seriousness of the intention behind it. Larraín is not making a film that wants to be liked, and Di Girolamo's performance, whatever else you make of it, is the kind of work that tends to linger. For viewers who have grown a little weary of dramas that tidy their protagonists into sympathetic shapes, Ema offers something genuinely different: a film that would rather unsettle you than reassure you. Some films ask you to forgive their characters. This one does not particularly care whether you do.
Rating: ★★★½ | Year: 2019 | Watched: 2026-05-30
Trailer
▶ Watch the official trailer for Ema (2019) on YouTube
Where to watch (UK)
Stream: MUBI · MUBI Amazon Channel · Channel 4 Plus
Rent: Apple TV Store · Rakuten TV · Amazon Video
Buy: Apple TV Store · Rakuten TV · Amazon Video
Physical: Amazon UK · Zavvi
Affiliate disclosure: Movies With Macca may earn a small commission on purchases or subscriptions started via these links. It costs you nothing extra.
