Film critics such as this writer can sometimes forget that a filmmaker isn’t just (or even necessarily) someone who thinks, lives, and breathes cinema, the way many critics do; a filmmaker is, first and foremost, someone who makes films. Ideas don’t turn into movies at the click of a finger, and just thinking about all the various practical steps involved in making a movie can be daunting in itself. To go through with actually doing it is unthinkable in the literal sense: it is not something done in the mind, but in the body, every day, with your life. Spanish director Rodrigo Sorogoyen faces this unglamorous and, in some ways, brutal reality head-on in “The Beloved,” which premieres in Competition at this year’s Cannes Film Festival.
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In the film’s stunning opening scene, Esteban—the peerless Javier Bardem—meets Emilia (Victoria Luengo) for lunch at a restaurant. Before their conversation reveals anything about who they are to each other, their body language already suggests a lot: although they’re clearly seeing each other for the first time in years, it is obvious that they once were close, and from the simple joy of reconnecting with an acquaintance, they can easily switch to a dynamic of reproach and bitterness that feels very old. Watching Bardem and Luengo at work in this scene is some of the most thrilling cinema I have been given to see at this festival: the two actors are engaged in a gripping game of emotional back-and-forth, the charge of their connection fluctuating with every word and look, hinting at a whole shared history. It is the kind of cinematic conversation that feels realer than real, which is most likely Sorogoyen’s point—Esteban is a filmmaker, asking his daughter Emilia to appear in his next film.
Where movies about filmmaking can sometimes get woolly and overly abstract, with characters waxing lyrical about the ineffable magic of cinema, Sorogoyen establishes a much more grounded focus on process right from this opening sequence. Part of what makes Esteban and Emilia’s initial conversation so fascinating to watch is the tension between what they say and how they say it; as they talk, it initially seems like both father and daughter are interested in exploring this tension together. Tentatively opening up to one another, they appear keen to investigate a particular tone, an awkward turn of phrase, a silence hanging in the air a little too long. It is a collaboration, suggesting the possibility of a later creative collaboration should Esteban and Emilia work together.
![‘The Beloved’ Review: Javier Bardem & Victoria Luengo Electrify Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s Brutal Portrait Of A Filmmaker [Cannes]](https://cdn.theplaylist.net/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/18172830/the-beloved-5-1024x724.jpg)
When that conversation hits a wall, their disagreement is of a familiar kind: Esteban has fond memories of Emilia’s childhood, but she remembers things differently. In the context of Sorogoyen’s film, however, this ordinary clash hints at a more profound mismatch in their approaches to work, relationships, and life itself. At the end of the day, Esteban does not care to rehash the past, clarify anything, blame, or apologize: all he really wants is to make this new film. Emilia does not yet realize just how little he is interested in anything else. When push comes to shove, it turns out that Esteban’s process, after all, is to dig his heels in and raise his voice. In short, his process is to use force.
In our post-MeToo era, macho filmmakers renowned for their award-winning films and “legendary” on-set behavior do not tend to get the careful and patient attention that Sorogoyen’s film lends Esteban here. Though he speaks in platitudes in interviews, Esteban is mostly seen in the film through the eyes of Emilia, who sees in him an artist, but also a man and a father. Through this unique perspective, crucially not shared by anyone else on Esteban’s set, “The Beloved” builds a multidimensional portrait of a tyrant, never excusing his behavior but rather showing how deeply rooted the problem is.
![‘The Beloved’ Review: Javier Bardem & Victoria Luengo Electrify Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s Brutal Portrait Of A Filmmaker [Cannes]](https://cdn.theplaylist.net/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/18172828/the-beloved-8-1024x724.jpg)
In one telling scene, Esteban and Emilia watch the rushes of a scene they recently shot together; he shows her how useful it is to watch material without sound. Esteban clearly knows what he is talking about when it comes to directing, and this moment of creative exchange between father and daughter is touching. When he asks Emilia how she felt when shooting the scene, she says she was particularly relaxed that day—another positive. In response, he adds that in order to feel better in general and have more good work days like that, his advice would be for her to stop drinking so much. There, Emilia draws a line: she doesn’t want him to tell her how to live her life.
Her angered response is more than justified: it seems clear that this father only cares about his daughter’s drinking when it affects his own work. But more than the self-centeredness of his remark, it’s the matter-of-factness of his suggestion that leaves a bitter taste. Esteban has no interest in the why of his daughter’s drinking, and offers no support or advice on how to manage it: instead, he patronizingly states the obvious and leaves.
Watching Esteban, it’s easy to be reminded of any number of ordinary people—not filmmakers, not Oscar or Palme d’Or winners—who routinely behave this way, especially with their children. But what we’re also seeing here is the behavior of a film director who expects his collaborators to simply make his vision come to life.
![‘The Beloved’ Review: Javier Bardem & Victoria Luengo Electrify Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s Brutal Portrait Of A Filmmaker [Cannes]](https://cdn.theplaylist.net/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/18171721/the-beloved-cannes-javier-bardem-199719-1024x632.jpg)
Sorogoyen brings to the surface this connection between patriarchal domination and a certain type of filmmaking in another stunning set-piece, centered on one of the most clichéd of on-set anecdotes: actors seized by an irrepressible laughing fit, ruining take after expensive take with their giggles. As if not to let the incident devolve into a juicy on-set story—the building block of many filmmakers’ iconic status, at least once upon a time—Sorogoyen lets it play out way past the point of discomfort. By the end of the sequence, Esteban is away from his monitor, menacingly hovering near his actors and barking out orders to the crew. Emilia, trying her best to get through the scene, is shaking.
This emotionally violent sequence is a turning point for the production and for “The Beloved”: from then on, Emilia’s expectations appear to shift. Esteban is harder to read, apparently uncertain what to make of the situation. What he does know, still, is how to make films. Near the end of “The Beloved,” we see him watching a sequence he shot in which his two leads, including Emilia, walk across a desert dune. The shot looks banal, even corny—but then Esteban tells his editor to add the score. It’s a great moment of cinema; it is also utterly artificial.
Throughout the production of his Sahara-set epic, Esteban has been recording a commentary for the Blu-ray release of his low-budget debut feature. Talking alone in his hotel room, he says that it isn’t so much the images that he remembers most vividly, but the experiences he had making them. Could he be haunted by the consequences of his own stubborn ambitions? Far from defending the behavior of this abusive artist, Sorogoyen exposes him as trapped between his memories and his imagination. When not even his daughter can drag him back into the here and now, perhaps he isn’t worth saving. Esteban’s tears, as he watches Emilia walk in the desert to a swelling, romantic score, may be tears of happiness at getting the shot, or tears of sadness at having lost her. With “The Beloved,” Sorogoyen shows us that they very well could be both. [A]
