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Cult Review
Archivist John
Senior Editor
Is Ethel fue una mujer ingenua a forgotten classic or a tired relic of Spanish cinema? Short answer: It is a fascinating historical document for the patient cinephile, but a frustrating slog for the casual viewer seeking modern pacing.
This film is specifically for those who enjoy the 'Destape' era's more somber cousins—films that trade cheap thrills for a biting critique of the Spanish transition. It is absolutely NOT for anyone who needs an active protagonist or a plot that moves with the urgency of a contemporary thriller.
1) This film works because it captures the claustrophobic social hierarchy of 1970s Spain with an uncomfortable, voyeuristic precision.
2) This film fails because the central character is so passive that the audience often feels more like a witness to an endurance test than a participant in a story.
3) You should watch it if you are interested in how Spanish cinema navigated the line between moralizing melodrama and social realism during the late Francoist and early transition period.
Yes, but only if you approach it as a piece of cultural archaeology. The film provides a unique window into the gender dynamics of its era, showing a woman trapped by her own perceived innocence. It is a demanding watch that requires you to read between the lines of its slow-moving scenes.
The brilliance—and the primary frustration—of Ethel fue una mujer ingenua lies in the performance of Estrella Garvayo Bermúdez de Castro. She plays Ethel with a stillness that is almost unnerving. In a cinematic landscape often dominated by the expressive theatrics of films like After the Ball, Garvayo’s choice to remain internal is a bold one. She doesn't fight; she doesn't scream. She simply exists, and in doing so, she forces the other characters to reveal their own ugliness. It works. But it’s flawed.
Benavides isn't interested in your comfort. He uses the camera to trap Ethel in tight frames, often cutting off the space around her to simulate the societal walls closing in. Unlike the more expansive visual language of The Isle of Lost Ships, the cinematography here is intentionally restrictive. The lighting is often harsh, casting long, jagged shadows that feel more like the noir aesthetics of The Carter Case than a standard drama.
Alfonso de Benavides writes with a pen dipped in vinegar. The dialogue is sparse, but when it lands, it bites. There is a specific scene in the second act—a dinner party where Ethel is treated like a curiosity rather than a human—that rivals the social commentary found in Hypocrites. The way the men talk over her, around her, and for her is a masterclass in illustrating systemic erasure. However, the film's pacing is its greatest enemy. There are sequences that linger for minutes on end with no narrative progression, testing the limits of even the most dedicated viewer.
Comparing this to Discontented Husbands, one can see a similar preoccupation with the domestic sphere as a site of conflict. However, Benavides strips away the comedic relief, leaving only the raw bone of social friction. The film feels less like a narrative and more like a newsreel of a slow-motion car crash, reminiscent in its observational tone to the spirit of Kino Pravda No. 16, albeit in a fictionalized context.
The tone is relentlessly grim. Even in moments that should feel like a reprieve, there is an underlying sense of dread. This isn't the adventurous spirit of A Girl at Bay; this is a film about the walls of a cage. The pacing mimics this imprisonment. The film moves at a glacial speed, which I would argue is a deliberate choice to make the audience feel Ethel's boredom and stagnation. But let's be honest: it makes for a difficult viewing experience.
One surprising observation is the film's use of sound—or rather, the lack of it. The silence in Ethel’s apartment is deafening, contrasted sharply with the chaotic, layered sound design of the city streets. This auditory dichotomy highlights Ethel’s isolation more effectively than any monologue could. It’s a technique that feels far more modern than the rest of the film’s 1970s trappings.
While Wild Primrose deals with similar themes of innocence, Benavides’ work is far more cynical. There is no romanticization of the 'naive woman' here. Instead, naivety is presented as a dangerous liability. In some ways, the film shares more DNA with the gritty realism of Danger Within, where the environment is just as much an antagonist as the people. The film’s refusal to provide a cathartic ending is its most debatable and, frankly, its most respectable choice. It refuses to lie to the audience.
Ethel fue una mujer ingenua is a difficult film to love but an easy one to respect. It is a brutal, honest look at how society treats those it deems 'simple.' If you can stomach the slow speed and the lack of traditional action found in films like The National Rash or Open Your Eyes, you will find a work of significant depth. It isn't a masterpiece, but it is a necessary piece of the puzzle that is 1970s European cinema. It challenges the viewer to look at innocence not as a virtue, but as a target. Watch it for the history, stay for the haunting silence of its lead actress, but keep your expectations for 'entertainment' firmly in check.
IMDb 5.6
1926
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