TIFF review: Horizonte

Discussing reconciliation after the end of conflict 

One of the occupational hazards of being raised in Colombia is that you remember historical and present instances of violence with clear-cut clarity. You read about them, you study them, and you learn to pinpoint them with troubling ease, as the graphic images of war have been perpetually engraved in your mind. Colombia is a nation whose entire existence has been disrupted by conflict, and everyday media makes sure to remind us of its gory, ruthless details. 

Horizonte, directed by César Augusto Acevedo, does not. Depicting the story of Inés and her lost-long son, Basilio, as they travel through the afterlife and reckon with the violence they endured, the film abstains from graphically portraying war. Instead, it looks at the metaphysical aspect of violence and at what is left once immediate conflict has ended. It prompts both the characters and the audience to wonder how a country, which has simultaneously suffered and committed countless atrocities, heals from its past. 

Accompanied by wonderful cinematography and classic imagery from the Colombian countryside, Inés and Basilio’s story is one of complexity, where the reality of warfare is met with our inherent and unequivocal humanity. Acevedo’s characters are not ‘good’ or ‘bad’; they are people who were placed in inhumane circumstances and responded accordingly. During the Q&A section after the screening, Acevedo explains that Horizonte seeks to delve into the “real meaning of life” when faced with the inhumane conditions of violence. 

A Depiction of Real-Life Stories 

Throughout the film, Basilio and Inés recollect historical moments of conflict that echo some of the broader characteristics of the armed conflict. Amongst them is the massacre of peasants—campesinos, in its politically significant Spanish translation—at the hands of violent actors, where more than 11 000 people were killed between 1991 and 2012. While the film does not show any of the gory images, it describes the indiscriminate killing of innocent civilians at the hands of paramilitaries and guerrillas alike, detailing the laughter of bad actors as they use a decapitated head as a football—just like it happened at Cacarica, Chocó in 1997.

Similarly, it portrays the constant search for the forcefully disappeared, of which the Truth Commission estimates at least 210 000 victims. Just as Acevedo illustrates, the family members of the disappeared say their loved ones’ names and carry their photos with the hope that someone will tell them what happened, who did it, and most importantly, where their bodies are buried. 

Horizonte did not need to delve into specific situations to portray the visceral impact of the country’s civil war, as Colombian society would understand its references without need for further clarification. It is a film made by Colombians for Colombians, touching upon those topics that only we can truly understand, and humanizing the stories we have heard, lived, and experienced. 

The Unequivocal Humanity of a Mother

One of the earliest scenes follows Basilio as he knocks on the door of his childhood home and tries to convince his mother that he is, in fact, her long-lost son. This moment effectively sets the tone for their relationship, as Inés’ journey throughout the film is to reckon with the reality that her son is no longer the little boy she raised, but a soldier whose hands are covered in blood. He is not innocent and has not been for a very long time. He has done horrible things and has hurt countless others—but he is still her son. 

During the Q&A portion, actress Paulina García—who masterfully portrays Inés—described her character’s relationship with Basilio as the result of a mother’s understanding, where nothing that comes from their children can be interpreted as bizarre. It is not a call to absolute forgiveness, but rather the demonstration that a mother is able to see the humanity in their children even when the rest of the world refuses to, as it was them who brought them to the world, and it was them who first heard their screams. There is strength in a mother’s ability to love their children even when they have committed egregious crimes, and Acevedo’s wonderful portrayal reminds us that, during war, it is often mothers who are left to grieve their sons. 

Forgiving, Forgetting, and Moving Forward

At its core, Basilio’s quest is marked by his need for redemption. He longs to be forgiven for the crimes he has committed, but it is not that simple, as his victims do not forget. And more often than not, they do not forgive. How is it possible, then, for both Basilio and Colombia to move forward? 

Horizonte does not give us a concrete answer, but it focuses on problematising the question. As Basilio and Inés interact with a growing number of people and receive vastly different reactions from them, the film informs its audience that healing is not a universal process and that every victim must process their past on their own terms. Although nationally experienced, suffering was not homogenous, and different instances of violence should be resolved accordingly. 

The question of moving forward is, perhaps, one of the most tumultuous inquiries of post-conflict Colombia, for there is no right or wrong answer. Yet, Acevedo presents us with a very genuine response: “We must refer to the dead in order to go towards the living.” Horizonte, with its beautiful cinematography and complex characters, reminds us that the dead have stories worth telling, too.