Volveréis

The title says it all. In Spanish, Volveréis means “you’ll be back”, while the English and French, The Other Way Around and Septembre sans attendre (“September without waiting”, rhyming nicely in French) respectively, each reveal different nuances of the film’s themes. Set in September, at summer’s end, the film explores the cyclical nature of life and relationships, the boomerang effect of human connections, and the uncharted paths that intimate bonds take – rarely one-way. On a meta-level, it reflects the film-within-a-film dispositive, which loops back into the lives of the characters and the larger cinematic universe of director Jonás Trueba. Known for filming in his own neighbourhood with a familiar team, Trueba works with recurring collaborators, as seen in his casting of Itsaso Arana and Vito Sanz – both actors were in his previous film Teneis que venir a verla (You Have to Come and See It, 2022) and La virgen de Agosto (The August Virgin, 2019)— and sometimes the renowned filmmaker Fernando Trueba. Fernando is Jonás' father, known for co-directing Dispararon al pianista (2023) and Chico y Rita (2010) as well as having directed El olvido que seremos (2020). Evoking Woody Allen, Cary Grant, and Ingmar Bergman, Volveréis layers self-mockery and introspective elements, treating breakups and comedy as a cyclical dance: a step forward, a turn back, and then resuming the journey.

In the end, who will be back? Not only will the couple’s friends be back to join them for a “breakup party” that celebrates the end of their love, but the filmmaker returns with his familiar cinematic world, renewing a pact with his long-standing audience. Volveréis becomes a cinematic Russian doll or a multi-layered boomerang. As the couple – director Ale (Itsaso Arana) and actor Alex (Vito Sanz) – share the news of their breakup with friends, subsequently inviting them to the party, they find themselves comforting others who feel the weight of this loss. Repetitively, they reassure everyone, in person or over the phone, that this is a mutual decision; they’re fine and will part amicably, without bitterness, but the truth is also that their lives are so intertwined that separating feels like being uprooted from their natural habitat and sent into lands of exile. Trueba’s films often centre on intense, lengthy dialogues, and here, life within Madrid’s artistic circles carries on with long discourses as Ale and Alex continue to discuss, argue, and hold grudges, self-prophesying that separation feels like the best decision – yet still have much to say to each other after 14 years together.

[…] This flowing in and out through layers of screen space is Trueba’s way of exploring complex human emotions and the unspoken, often indecipherable words left unsaid.

As Ale and Alex divide their belongings, sort out new living arrangements, view single apartments and plan the breakup party, Ale continues editing a film in which Alex stars. In one scene, after Ale edits footage of Alex walking over a bridge to an art studio, Volveréis transitions seamlessly to Alex crossing the bridge in the diegetic space, just like in the previous fragment in the film-within-a-film, the joining a painting class and re-examining his art by placing it upside down – this time unframed by a computer screen. In a wry manner, Volveréis flows effortlessly between diegetic and intradiegetic moments, playfully erasing the boundaries between the fictive world and the fiction inside the fictive world.

[…] Do films see through life better than our own eyes? Or, do film scripts reach deeper into our souls than our conscious selves?

This flowing in and out through layers of screen space is Trueba’s way of exploring complex human emotions and the unspoken, often indecipherable words left unsaid. Toward the end of the film, Ale helps Alex record an audition tape amid the packing and boxing up of their respective lives. In the audition, Alex looks directly into the camera, saying, «I feel that I am under pressure, not because of you, but of life. I need to take distance from you and take some time.» His eyes moisten, while Ale, reading the opposite lines from behind the camera, responds, «I like being with you. I am in love with you. I like everything about you. I adore you.» The double meanings in these words, like a long-overdue love declaration, evoke subtle emotions in both of them, as people who work on films and live both in front of and behind the camera. Do films see through life better than our own eyes? Or, do film scripts reach deeper into our souls than our conscious selves?

Against the warm hues and texture of Madrid, Ale’s bright auburn hair shines, mirroring the tones of her studio chair, their English tutor’s shirt, their shared apartment’s window frames, duvet, and pillows. The film’s palette is vibrant and cohesive, embracing contrasts yet capturing in equal measure the magic of harmony. Trueba’s cinematographer, Santiago Racaj, captures domestic moments and the city’s spirit with tenderness, like an affectionate gaze from an old friend. Itsaso Arana and Vito Sanz co-wrote the screenplay for Volveréis with Jonás Trueba, further blurring the lines between performance and reality, making it difficult to distinguish whether the dialogue is from their characters or their real selves, and where the film starts and where true selves emerge. Their subtle, convincing performances reflect the characters’ closeness that comes from years of cohabitation; they brush each other’s arms in passing, exchange light smiles, and prepare coffee exactly to each other’s tastes. A snippet of faux-Super 8 footage from their youthful visit to Paris, wandering around Pompidou and Notre Dame, is enough to pull them back into their shared past – another kind of “other way around,” returning to their younger selves.

Perhaps, we sometimes need to look at things the other way around. Turn a painting upside down, or perceive a relationship from inside out in order to truly see what it is. Volveréis, with its unpretentious portrayal of everyday life, is a clever and charismatic cinematic reworking of romantic anti-romance.