Lucía Aleñar Iglesias’s debut feature, Discovery feature Forastera (2025), born from her 2020 short, is tough to pin down —and that’s why it’s so easy to recommend. Is it a ghost story? A coming-of-age tale? A meditation on loss? It’s a bit of all those, sidestepping the predictable traps of each. The film feels remarkably confident for a debut, with a distinct vision that marks Iglesias as a filmmaker to watch. It’s part of a vibrant wave of Spanish and Catalan cinema this year, alongside Sirãt (Oliver Laxe), Sorda (Eva Libertad), Estrany riu (Jaume Claret Muxart), and Molt lluny (Gerard Oms).
The story unfolds in a sun-drenched Mallorca beach house, where Cata (Zoe Stein) spends her summer with her younger sister Eva (Martina García Cursach) and their grandparents, Catalina (Marta Angelat) and Tomeu (Lluís Homar). One night, Cata finds her grandmother’s dead body on the stairs outside, apparently a slip-and-fall accident. Everyone grieves differently, but the film focuses on Cata, who starts slipping into her grandmother’s role, wearing her clothes and mimicking her gestures to hold onto her presence.
There’s a haunting tension between the weight of loss and the lightness of a summer by the sea. The grandparents’ apartment feels like a character, steeped in years of memories yet marked by a noticeable absence. The sunny, carefree Mallorca vibe clashes with the quiet pain inside the house — like life keeps moving, but you’re caught in a moment that changed everything.
Forastera blends the fleeting buzz of youth — sisterly chats, uncertain futures, summer flings with Swedish guys — with the heavy stuff of ageing and death. Losing someone so young pushes Cata to grow up fast, reshaping how she sees herself and her family. Her urge to step into her grandmother’s life feels raw and real, like a way to hold onto someone who meant everything to her. The film walks a tightrope, balancing the pain of loss with the instinct to fill that empty space by becoming someone else.
A different director might’ve turned this into a thriller or horror flick, but Iglesias makes a ghost story that’s totally her own, dodging every predictable trope. Cata’s moments of channelling her grandmother have this eerie, almost ghostly vibe, like her grandmother’s spirit is hovering nearby. These scenes leave you wondering: is this Cata’s way of dealing, or a way to shield herself from the hurt? Or maybe a way to help the others around her accept the loss?
Beneath all this heaviness, Forastera subtly explores how different generations grapple with not just death, but work, gender roles and family ties. These themes emerge through small moments — glances, gestures, pauses and some passive-aggressive communication. Cata might seem reserved, but she’s no blank-slate teen from typical coming-of-age stories. Boring and poorly directed teenagers have sunk countless festival films, but Zoe Stein’s subtle expressions convey a whole range of feeling; that alone keeps this consistently engaging. Both the cast and the script share this understated power, letting emotions simmer without tipping into melodrama. Grief runs through the story, but it’s built on real moments. You’re not getting any Sally Field in Steel Magnolias (Herbert Ross, 1989) theatrics.
It might feel a touch too subtle for some, but for those willing to sit with it, Lucía Aleñar Iglesias has crafted a haunting and singular story. It’s the kind of film that seeps into you, quietly bringing to mind your own first encounter with loss and how it reshaped who you are.
Editor-at-large Jared loves movies and lives with Kiki in Berlin.