La Bola Negra, or The Black Ball in English, is probably a term most are familiar with. In modern parlance, to blackball someone is to socially or professionally exclude them. But in Los Javis’ film, the term comes from the old tradition in which members of private clubs used coloured balls to vote on prospective applicants, with a black ball serving as a symbol of rejection. We see this play out in 1932, when Carlos’s (Milo Quifes) membership in a social club, or casino, is put to a vote, and he is rejected amid whispers that he is a homosexual. The title carries another meaning as well: La bola negra was the title of an unfinished work by Federico García Lorca, whose presence hangs heavily over the film.
Carlos’ story is one of three presented in the intertwined narrative. Another takes place in 1937 against the backdrop of the Spanish Civil War, where Sebastián (Guitarricadelafuente) is captured by Spanish Nationalist forces. There, he meets Republican Lieutenant Colonel Rafael Rodríguez Rapún (Miguel Bernardeau), and despite the circumstances that bring them together, the two quickly find themselves drawn to one another.
The third, and ultimately most important, story takes place in Madrid in 2017 and features Alberto (Carlos González), essentially a stand-in for playwright and co-writer Alberto Conejero. He is an openly gay historian living with his partner Juan Pablo (Julio Torres), with the two seemingly in an open relationship, as we first meet Alberto on Grindr looking for sex. Alberto receives notice of an inheritance from his grandfather, revealed fairly early to be Sebastián, and must travel to Cantabria to retrieve it.
The inheritance, of course, is about much more than property. Alberto is inheriting a queer history that previous generations were forced to keep hidden, with the past gradually beginning to invade his present. Through Alberto, the other timelines begin to feel less like separate stories than fragments of a history he is only beginning to uncover.
Los Javis reinforce this idea of buried and inherited history through a recurring use of black and white. Carlos is dressed in white when he goes before the casino members, only to later appear in black after being blackballed, as though the rejection has forced him to bury his homosexuality and present himself differently to the world. White takes on a different but related meaning in Alberto’s story: the house he inherits is being painted white, literally covering over what was there before, and during an argument with his mother (Almodóvar regular Lola Dueñas), Alberto himself ends up splattered with the paint. It’s an obvious but effective image of successive generations uncovering the queer history that those before them tried to figuratively paint over and forget.
There’s also a refined theatricality to the way Los Javis approach all of this. The film is heightened and stylised without ever tipping into outright melodrama or hysteria, unsurprising given that Pedro Almodóvar’s El Deseo is among the associate producers. Performance becomes a recurring idea, from Carlos dancing in a bar to Sebastián attending an entertainment show put on for the Nationalists while performing a political identity of his own simply to stay alive.
The film is also uninterested in sanitising the lives of its trio of gay characters. There is cruising, a fascination with male bodies and some fairly explicit gay sex, allowing sex to represent pleasure, intimacy and liberation against earlier generations who could be socially destroyed by the mere suspicion of homosexuality. That idea is summed up beautifully in the line, “The heart of a faggot is an ocean full of secrets.” Those secrets stretch across all three timelines, which Los Javis gradually assembles like a puzzle. Carlos faces exclusion over the suspicion of homosexuality, Sebastián’s relationships become part of a history that survives him, while Alberto can live openly with another man but still finds himself inheriting the secrets of those who could not.
The craft of the film needs to be talked about as well. Cinematographer Gris Jordana formerly worked under the tutelage of J.A. Bayona and Alejandro G. Iñárritu as an assistant camera, and her camera here is always sweeping, never completely stationary. One of the film’s major highlights is an incredible one-take dance sequence in a bar during Carlos’ story line, while she also does some of her best work during the entertainment show put on for the Nationalists in Sebastian’s time period. Alberto Gutiérrez’s editing is equally important, seamlessly weaving the three storylines together as dialogue and imagery begin answering questions raised in other periods. You never get confused about where you are, something that could easily make or break a film this structurally complicated.
I would also be remiss if I forgot to talk about the performances. It was only at the end of the film that I fully realized Guitarricadelafuente was playing Sebastián. He completely holds his own here, and I honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell you this was his first role. Penélope Cruz and Glenn Close are also standouts. Cruz appears in the 1937 story line as Nene Romero during what could basically be described as a USO show for the Spanish Nationalists. I don’t think I really need to describe what Cruz is capable of at this point. She’s one of our finest actresses, and despite appearing in only three scenes, she gets in some fantastic singing and a great scene opposite Guitarricadelafuente.
Close appears in 2017 as Isabelle Durand, an American expert on Federico García Lorca who helps Alberto with his research. It’s only a two-scene performance, but most interestingly, Close performs in Spanish. Despite the obvious accent, she’s not bad at all, and it works perfectly well given that her character is American. She also gets one of the film’s most memorable lines: “You inherited something, and you don’t know what to do with it. You are a true Spaniard.”
What ultimately stayed with me about La Bola Negra is the idea of inheritance, not simply of property or family but of queer lives that were never allowed to be fully visible in their own time. Carlos, Sebastián and Alberto live in very different Spains, but Los Javis collapses that distance until their experiences begin to feel like parts of the same history. The film understands that being able to live openly in the present doesn’t erase what came before, nor does it mean those secrets simply disappear. Someone eventually inherits them. La Bola Negra is about what we choose to do with them once we do.
Watch the trailer right here.
All images via Netflix.
Directed by Javier Calvo and Javier Ambrossi
Screenplay by Javier Ambrossi, Javier Calvo, Alberto Conejero based on the plays La Bola Negra by Federico García Lorca and La piedra oscura by Alberto Conejero
Produced by Javier Calvo, Javier Ambrossi, Jorge Pezzi
Starring Guitarricadelafuente, Miguel Bernardeau, Carlos González, Milo Quifes, Lola Dueñas, Julio Torres, Penélope Cruz, Glenn Close
Premiere Date: May 21, 2026 (Cannes)
Running Time: 159 minutes
Other Writers Say…
Jaime Rebanal
Strives for epic status as much as it possibly can, for better or worse. It’s something you sense from the many eras which La Bola Negra covers, but that’s all the more reason why I feel like I can’t help but respect what Los Javis are going for here. Some of the most astonishingly beautiful sets that you’ll see in a very long time, because you know that these directors want nothing more than to give an unfinished poem by Federico García Lorca the best they can. It’s also made all the more enjoyable as a piece of speculative fiction; at least based on an idea of what La Bola Negra could have become, especially given what we know about García Lorca’s life.
I think what really keeps me from loving this though, is just that you really feel this film’s ambitions don’t always feel polished. At two-and-a-half hours, the runtime can be felt, especially given how the movie’s structure jumps between the eras to create a portrait of queer life unfurling after being suppressed by fascism. And it also comes off feeling rather heavy-handed, especially when you have a character named Sebastian climbing a statue of St. Sebastian. Still, Los Javis are aiming high – you can’t help but respect their ambitions.
Connor Walsh
A massive sweeping film about intermingle lives that I need to watch under more caffeine. I felt the film was tremendous but there’s a lot going on visually whether it be blocking or shifting cinematography that I feel multiple watches are required. This year however, is a hell of one for Penélope Cruz.
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