Prayers for the Stolen movie review (2021)

Ana is central, and it is through her eyes which we see this world, a world dominated by the tense silence of adults, and the sudden bursts of terror when the cartel “representatives” barrel into town, shooting guns in the air, whooping like conquerors. A family was taken in the night. Nobody knows where. Ana peeks through the windows of their home, dishes on the table, shoes by the bed. It is as though they were ripped up into the sky mid-meal.

The second half of the film, not as strong as the first half, takes place a couple of years later, with new actresses playing the trio: Marya Membreño (Ana), Giselle Barrera Sánchez (Maria), and Alejandra Camacho (Paula). The now tween-age girls still soothe one another with their in-sync game, and share a crush on their teacher. Their hair is still shorn close to their heads, and they look longingly at the little bottles of nail polish in the makeshift salon. Being a girl is a dangerous act. When Ana gets her period for the first time, Rita doesn’t hug her daughter. She looks terrified. They both know what it means. Huezo has done such an intuitive job of setting up the dangers that when the girls go swimming in the river, or walk home after school, chatting and laughing, you fear for them.

So much is left unsaid, and this adds to the intensity of “Prayers for the Stolen.” Cinematographer Dariela Ludlow immerses us into this world, its lush greenery and pitch-black shadows, the poisonous pesticide dropped on the village in a burning acidic fog, the quiet oasis of the school room. There’s a beautiful shot of a crowd of people standing on a hill at dusk, the only place in town where there’s cell service, their phones lit up as they try to contact loved ones, anyone on the “outside.” Much of the film depends on the young actresses, and they create a believable and very touching bond. Ana is tough and resilient, and her smile, when it comes, cracks her face open with joy. Any joy is short-lived. People are fleeing. The girls can no longer “pass” as boys. They are in grave danger.

Huezo’s approach is sensitive but powerful. The lack of explanatory dialogue keeps us fully immersed in the everyday reality of people who live in the terrifying crossfire, all of them vibrating with the silence of things that can’t be said, that don’t need to be said. Terror is the air they breathe.

In theaters and on Netflix today.