The Party’s Over. But Prejudice Never Ends.

The Spanish word pijo, often translated as posh, describes a certain segment of society defined primarily by wealth and class. Pijos have reached a distinct level of affluence and are easily identifiable by their behaviour and attire. Like wealthy people anywhere, their political views can range from far right to far left, or be completely apolitical.

Carmina (Sonia Barba), the divorced protagonist of Elena Manrique’s debut film The Party’s Over (2024), playing in the Discovery section, is a bored and unfulfilled pija whose political stance isn’t quite clear when we meet her. She enjoys a life of bourgeois comforts — ordering her maid around, hosting lavish parties at her villa, indulging in facials and manicures.

After a night of drinking and getting high with the gals, she wakes to find Bilal (Edith Martínez), a recently arrived Senegalese immigrant, seeking food and refuge in her living room. Carmina seems friendly at first, but as the story progresses, it becomes evident that she’s a selfish, ignorant and ridiculous person… a person so broken and lonely and disconnected from reality that her misguided attempts to “help” may end up causing Bilal great harm.

The Party’s Over is sharp satire with a laid-back, hangout vibe that slowly erodes with an icky, creeping tension. The first hour is mostly confined to Carmina’s villa, with minimal music and the ambient sounds of a sleepy village — buzzing insects, etc — lulling viewers into a false sense of calm.

Despite its rather heavy, topical subject matter, The Party’s Over strikes an impressive and assured balance between tone and theme. Manrique manages to make light of the dehumanising nature of racism by transforming it into an absurd farce, showing how privileged neoliberal Europeans might react to the presence of a Black immigrant in their midst. And it’s frequently hilarious because she knows exactly who needs to be the butt of the joke.

Not everything lands. A key twist feels predictable, with seasoned audiences likely sniffing it out well before the reveal. Elsewhere,  one conversation that establishes a possibility of some class solidarity between two characters feels clumsy. These minor flaws are easily forgiven because Manrique’s script does exactly what it sets out to do:  caustically exposing the absurdity and bigotry among los pijos and making us laugh while doing so.