Margarita Irún in The Heiresses (Distrib Films US)

Chiquita and Chela are longtime lovers who have lived in Chela’s house for decades—it is where Chela grew up. Once part of Paraguay’s ruling class, they have fallen on hard times and are forced to sell family heirlooms to pay off an ever expanding pile of debts. Chiquita (Margarita Irún), the more pragmatic and social one, handles this, much to Chela’s chagrin. We soon learn that Chiquita has been accused of fraud and will have to go to jail for a few months. She blithely claims the same thing has happened to a friend of hers and that it occurs all the time, and in the meantime, she hires a live in housekeeper to care for Chela in her absence. Once Chiquita is away, Chela becomes even more depressed and irritable. That is, until an elderly neighbor asks her to drive her to a friend’s house and insists on paying her.

There, I just saved you the trouble of deciphering the first disjointed, opaque third of the film, but all that information only becomes clearer after you plow through it. Writer/director Marcelo Marteressi’s idea to withhold information and spool it out slowly feels like a too deliberate choice to get viewers into Chela’s head. Characters appear without reference to who they are and why there are there. There is no effort to orient you. The result is frustration and a burgeoning lack of interest as to what follows.

Which is a bit of a shame, because what follows is a lovely character study of a lonely woman who hesitantly steps out into the world and finds the freedom she lacked when she had money and was constantly pampered. The rest of the story should remain unspoiled to be discovered. There are no grandstanding moments or a third act reveal. Instead, this is a quiet film.

Ana Brun as Chela does exquisite work. While watching her in a car as she drives her first passenger, you are privy to an exquisitely subtle mélange of emotions. The slow, arduous blossoming of her esteem is presented in the smallest expressions of Brun’s face. She creates a singular portrait of an upper-class woman moving into financial ruin yet hesitantly feeling her way toward placing her worth in herself, rather than as an external vessel, whether it be regarding wealth or the whims of her lover. It is really a fantastic performance.

Martinessi considers this film a metaphor of the Paraguayan political situation as, after years of dictatorship, the country is coming out into the light and exploring freedom without political constraint. It’s noteworthy that he would pick a subject who likely benefited from the former regime to make his point. He seemed to have taken the least relatable person and given her the benefit of the doubt.

It’s also notable that there is a palpable absence of men in Chela’s world, given that Martinessi focuses, with one strong exception, on woman over 50. He places their needs as a central focal point. And none of these women are Hollywood glamorous. They are relentlessly average in their appearance. It’s that averageness, that sense we are witnessing real people making small changes that, to them, amount to huge leaps that draws us in, and, like in all great art, we see ourselves in someone who may superficially be nothing like us at all.