The Echo

Everyone in the family has to work hard in the remote Mexican village El Eco, but the people we follow most closely are the youngest ones, especially the girls. With Monse, we learn how to get grandma into the bath, with Luz Ma, how to harvest corn, and with her little brother Toño we learn that you can just leave the dirty dishes for your sister.

Along the path to adulthood they escape everyday life in daydreams. After school, the girls gather wood, wash the dishes, and slaughter sheep—or help them give birth. And meanwhile they fantasize about earning money, becoming a teacher, or joining the army. About being able to take care of themselves, so no one else has to—it’s generally expected here that the men earn the money, and often far away in the cities. But while the social mores of the village are frequently a source of conflict for the adolescent daughters, they still feel at home here, riding horses bareback in these almost mythical surroundings.

The tone of this understated meditation from a feminist perspective is characteristic of the director: it is sensitive and modest, but no less critical for that. And it is pervaded by a sense of reverence for the mystical landscape of northern Mexico.