Close Your Eyes (Film at Lincoln Center)

For director Víctor Erice—a legend in Spanish cinema thanks to films such as The Spirit of the Beehive and The South—the path between each completed movie and every frustrated and unrealized project has not been easy. (His adaptation of Juan Marsé’s novel The Shanghai Spell ultimately fell into the hands of Fernando Trueba after Erice tried to take it on). It has finally taken him three decades to return with a testament that could well be his last word in cinema. (His third film, The Quince Tree Sun, was released in 1992.) Or, perhaps it is a renewal, to encourage him to continue creating at the age of 83. Whatever path Erice chooses to take, his contribution to the beauty and transcendence of cinema could not feel more fulfilled and self-realized than in the impressive Close Your Eyes. (Its Spanish title, Cierra los ojos, implicitly alludes to Alejandro Amenábar’s Open Your Eyes from 1997, and one wonders if it is a small poke at the expense of a younger generation of Spanish filmmakers who might have rendered Erice as out-of-date.)

His nearly three hour-opus premiered in the United States as part of the Main Slate of the 61st New York Film Festival, and unfortunately, it still is without U.S. distribution. Erice’s film may initially appear to be a secret treat for insiders and a cinematic poem to be appreciated at prominent festivals. (It originally premiered at Cannes, where its exclusion from the competition selection caused, not without reason, a protest from the director, who chose not to attend and wrote an open letter explaining why.) Even if one thinks that it is an inscrutable and difficult-to-digest work, it is, in fact, quite the opposite. Close Your Eyes is an elegy to cinema and a lament for the inevitable obsolescence of things—due to the forgetfulness brought by the passage of time, old age and the afflictions that come with it—executed with poignant clarity.

With intentionally autobiographical nods, the plot is simple. Miguel Garay (Manolo Solo), an aging and retired film director, is still haunted by the memory of his last unfinished film, The Farewell Gaze. Thirty years have passed, and he has not made a film since, because that was the last time anyone heard from the lead actor and Miguel’s best friend, Julio Arenas (José Coronado). The renowned actor, known for his womanizing and drinking, disappeared from the set and never returned, leaving no trace. For a long time, his vanishing act was thought to be an accident, and there were conspiracy theories suggesting retribution for his affair with the wife of an important politician. Eventually, the mystery was forgotten, except by those who truly cared: Miguel as well as Julio’s daughter, Ana (a magnificent Ana Torrent, working with Erice for the first time since he discovered her as a child in The Spirit of the Beehive).

However, a 2012 documentary TV series dedicated to inexplicable cases has dedicated an episode to Julio’s disappearance, requiring Miguel’s participation and assistance. (Here is where you can appreciate a not-at-all out-0f-date Erice humorously addressing the visual language of the present.) For Miguel, this serves as a curious awakening of his memory, leading to a kind of spiritual journey that connects him with his past: the reels of the unfinished last movie (whose first and last scenes function as a magnificent film within this film), the first novel he wrote, photos of a dead son, a reunion with an old friend and lover with whom he gracefully resolves past misunderstandings, and, of course, everything he holds about his deep friendship with someone who may well be dead.

Close Your Eyes quietly answers the questions surrounding the mystery of Julio’s disappearance with a satisfying and ecstatic conclusion after Erice stages a series of reunions that defy expectations. In the midst of Miguel’s journey, there are songs, conversations, and moments of contemplation that gradually ease “the supreme business of aging without fear or hope,” in the words of his lifelong editor. For the audience, there is an invitation to obey the title metaphorically, to allow oneself to embrace life and art as one and the same. This illuminated and painfully beautiful film deserves to be remembered as one of the best of the year (whenever it may be released). Its magic will come alive in the eyes of the beholder.