‘La Bola Negra’ Reminds Us That Queer History Always Endures

The lives of three men intersect across Spanish history in La Bola Negra, a stunning film that showcases how queerness always has and always will cut across time. Based in part on the real unfinished play of the same name by Federico García Lorca, this is a gorgeously directed and lively affair that proves the importance of keeping queer stories alive, especially during times of unrest, war and fascism.

Told as a non-sequential triptych narrative, La Bola Negra depicts the lives of three Spanish men: Carlos (Milo Quifes) in 1932 as he’s rejected from a casino membership, Sebastián (Guitarricadelafuente) in 1937 as the Spanish Civil War breaks out, and historian Alberto (Carlos González) carrying out research in 2017.

How the lives of these men fold into one another is not immediately clear, but the mystery of how they do is one of La Bola Negra’s greatest strengths. It’s a somewhat twisty film that asks you to keep track of these seemingly disparate elements, but rewards your patience in spades as the film concludes.

Despite the rather heady material, directors Javier Calvo and Javier Ambrossi tell their story with a refreshing amount of confidence. La Bola Negra is a film with a real sense of style, and puts together stunning sequences with regularity. The most fascinating story is that of Sebastián, one of the fascists in the Civil War, as he forms an unconventional relationship with a resistance fighter in Rafael (Miguel Bernardeau).

La Bola Negra is twisty and rewarding

Soon, we realise that Sebastián is the estranged grandfather of Alberto in the present, and it’s impossible to avoid wondering how exactly the two’s stories will connect. Once Alberto receives his grandfather’s will, La Bola Negra begins crystallising into something quite special as a tale about the impact of preserving queer history.

Each of the lead actors in this trilogy of tales is excellent, particularly Guitarricadelafuente as Sebastián. His budding relationship with Rafael is utterly fascinating, and he shares a palpable chemistry with Miguel Bernardeau that suffuses the entire plot with a terrible sense of tragedy.

This part of La Bola Negra also effectively displays the hollow core of fascism, and the lack of belief many of its soldiers truly have in it. Sebastián only joins because his only other alternative is death, and even the occasional soldier knows about him and Rafael and chooses not to report them. A brief performance from a knockout Penélope Cruz accentuates this further: the way aesthetics are quintessential to authoritarianism.

The complicated nature of Sebastián makes the gradual reveals about his connections to Carlos and Alberto all the more satisfying, and La Bola Negra ends as a real tear-jerker. But more than anything, it’s a potent reminder about the importance of queer history and how it endures, even in the face of powerful threats to it.

★★★★½

La Bola Negra is in theatres now.