Reid Kellermann | Staff Illustrator

Christopher Nolan’s “The Odyssey” is perhaps the simplest definition of a theatrical epic: a story rife with omnipotent gods and towering monsters, devastating wars and shocking betrayals, earth-shaking storms and the spilled blood of great men. 

But that is not the only way to film one.

In “La Bola Negra,” directors Javier Calvo and Javier Ambrossi offer a different meaning of an epic: one defined not by grandiosity but instead by achingly human stories, charged gazes, and an interrogation of the invisible structures that ostracize and erase queerness in Western society. The film paints a beautiful tapestry of the otherwise invisible lives of three gay men who are interconnected across generations in Spain. Through focusing on their ordinary struggles at the sidelines of the Spanish Civil War, yet always getting stuck in the wet mud and bruised hearts of their vicious internal conflicts, “La Bola Negra” cements itself as a masterful epic.

The film begins in northern Spain in 1937, a period marred by internal strife between the leftist Republicans and dictatorial Nationalists. To survive, the young closeted trumpet player Sebastián (Guitarricadelafuente in his acting debut) begins posing as a Nationalist soldier. But his tenuous loyalty to those belligerents is tested when he is assigned to guard Rafael (Miguel Bernardeau), a captured combatant fighting for the opposing rebellion. Quickly, the two grow closer, exchanging intimate secrets from their past lives and fleeting, hesitant touches.

However, “La Bola Negra” is no simple story of star-crossed lovers across enemy lines. Sebastián and Rafael’s connection is far more meaningful than a sappy romance, with themes of betrayal, duty, and a poignant inability to truly connect with one another defining their storyline. And the film is all the better for it.

As “La Bola Negra” continues, it is revealed that that 1937 arc is just one piece of the more expansive and emotionally resonant epic that the film tells. Alberto Gutiérrez’s smooth editing allows the story to effortlessly drift from Sebastián’s plotline to the other two focuses of the film: Carlos and Alberto. 

In 1932, Carlos (a moving Milo Quifes) is attempting to become a member at a renowned casino when rumors of him being gay break out. In 2017, Alberto (Carlos González) is struggling to connect with his substance-using, angry mother (Lola Dueñas) while researching traces of queerness in historical Spanish music.

Each of those three main characters live in completely different times, yet they all reckon with the same struggles of being “the other sort,” or, as Carlos is ordered by his father, “You have to be what you’re meant to be: … a man.”

Through the breadth of utterly distinct gay male stories represented in “La Bola Negra,” the film rises from a simple, predictable story to a nuanced epic. It displays the variation in the acceptance of queer visibility over time, from Carlos’ totalizing hesitance to ever acknowledge his true identity even with his friends, to how, in modern society, Alberto takes for granted the right to be out, accepted, and protected by his government. 

The film beautifully holds their livelihoods in tension with one another, allowing audiences to powerfully recognize the struggles previous generations have gone through and what a privilege it is for us to be more (however imperfectly) equal with one another today. “La Bola Negra” centers the forgotten work of the ordinary men who labored for far too long under an oppressive system. Scene by scene, it slowly reveals the lasting effects of that anguish and how generational trauma echoes through time to the present.

Perhaps it is more powerful to witness the strength and the failures of the relatable and the ordinary than admiring the unrealistic tribulations of demigods and great heroes. 

That emotional epicness of “La Bola Negra” arises in composer Raül Refree’s achingly moving orchestral score full of yearning strings and softly plucked keys and Gris Jordana’s stunning vignette cinematography that beautifully captures soft white light, sprawling rocky landscapes, and piercing army silhouettes. The film is also epic in its moving, gradual stitching together of storylines that never overstates its main point and instead allows the emotional wave of “La Bola Negra” to slowly rise, crest, and cascade.

Perhaps the film sometimes focuses on the wrong thing, leans into its melancholic drama a bit too far, or gets lost in the ecstasy of its own cigarette-totting, sweat-flying, alcohol-induced dance sequences, but those moments of gratuitous splendor are justified by the shattering power of its emotional core. 

From the exuberant displays of wartime life surrounding Sebastián to the quiet of Carlos’ devastating reticence and wide, yearning eyes, “La Bola Negra” is without a doubt a monumental achievement. One that teaches us that the struggles of the ordinary have epic and resonant effects that help form the foundation of today’s society.