The following line sums up what Elisa K. is about: “Mamà, necessito que m'ajudis. Acabo de recordar una cosa horrible” (Mum, I need you to help me. I just remembered a horrible thing). Jordi Cadena wrote a brilliant script based on the novel Elisa Kiseljak by Lolita Bosch. In 2010, this 70-minute film was released in the San Sebastian International Film Festival, and two aspects of it were immediately pointed out: its wonderful technique, as the film is split into two distinct parts directed by two different filmmakers; and its bravery in depicting child abuse, as painfully portrayed by Aina Clotet, a young Catalan actress who proves her staggering all-around talent.
"The following line sums up what Elisa K. is about: 'Mamà, necessito que m'ajudis. Acabo de recordar una cosa horrible' (Mum, I need you to help me. I just remembered a horrible thing)"
Elisa K. builds a world of sensations out of a single event, the abuse of a 10-year-old. Just when viewers believe they have the film figured out, a completely different second half begins. Filmed in color and with a hand-held camera, Elisa appears as a 25-year-old woman who remembers what happened when she was 10. While this second half dares to show a terribly long depiction of the traumatic moment as Elisa remembers it, the black-and-white first half can be seen as a collection of images of Elisa's routine. Shots are symmetrical, full of straight lines, and the camera seems shy and quiet, like young Elisa after her dad’s friend rapes her.
Nonetheless, this first half, directed by scriptwriter Cadena, is very unique in that every scene is accompanied by a narrator whose voice plays over the characters’ voices. Who this male narrator is, the audience does not know. But he seems to be familiar with Elisa’s world and her relatives. Sometimes, his comments appear to be pointless, as he merely explains what appears on-screen or even repeats some of the brief dialogues. Yet, at other times, he manages to point things out that make one feel uneasy: “És de nit, molt de nit” (It's nighttime, very nighttime) or “L'Elisa es fixa en els quadrats de la vorera. Un, dos, tres, quatre, cinc. Cada cinc ha de fer un salt per no trepitjar l'infern” (Elisa pays attention to the squares on the pavement. One, two, three, four, five. Every five squares she needs to take a leap so as not to step on Hell).
Although this can seem odd at first, audiences soon accept these ill-fitting remarks. The narrator becomes the voice of cruelty, the sound of pain: “El pare, que ha begut més del compte durant el dinar, es quedarà adormit en poc temps. En pocs minuts, Elisa serà violada. Després perdrà la memòria i la conversa entre l'amic i el seu pare deixarà de tenir importància” (The dad, having drunk a bit too much during lunch, will shortly fall asleep. Minutes later, Elisa will be raped. Then she will lose her memory, and the conversation between her dad and his friend won't be important anymore). After the horror we do not see but only listen to, dialogue seems even more useless. Communication in Elisa’s life won’t be effective. She cannot explain what happened to her and others cannot understand. That is why going mute is her only way to survive, just as screaming will afterwards be her only way to come to grips with her past.
"This film can be easily understood without words. The facts speak for themselves, and that is why the use of language seems so creative. It describes what we see and hides a commentary on Elisa’s feelings, the main thing this film cares about."
Sound also plays an important role. Elisa’s cries of despair dilute every word she could possibly phrase while in the process of remembering. In the same way, the rape itself is embodied by the sounds of the television, the breathing on her ear, and the “engronxador” (swing) that Elisa's brother hangs onto on the terrace. However, the sound does not only take over the film during key moments. It is generally extremely haunting and evokes an emotive journey into the protagonist’s mind: urban cars fade out a conversation with her dad, birds peacefully sing at her mum’s house in the country, etc.
Beethoven’s “For Elise” opens the film, paying tribute to all the Elisas that exist. The piano keys perform a beautiful classical composition and announce the calm that the protagonist will be seeking in the two parts of the film, as she transitions from her initial horror to forgetfulness, and then from recollection to acceptance. Hers is the only name we hear during the film. The rest of the characters are just Elisa’s mum, dad, siblings, or friends, while teachers are called Mr. R or Mrs. S. Only the rapist has a different status: instead of being directly related to Elisa, he is her dad’s friend. This film can be easily understood without words. The facts speak for themselves, and that is why the use of language seems so creative. It describes what we see and hides a commentary on Elisa’s feelings, the main thing this film cares about.
