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Ester Expósito, Malena Villa and Mathilde Ollivier star in 'El llanto', a metaphor about sexist violence

The patriarchy’s grip is serpentine, its reach endless. In Pedro Martín-Calero’s El Llanto, it is laid bare, unrelenting and without respite. Beyond the raw violence we cannot ignore, there exists an even more corrosive force—the quiet erosion of our very sanity, a force that clings to women across generations. The comparisons, the suffocating expectations, the silent battles—they eat away at the core of what it means to be us. Malena, Mathilde, and I stand as faces of this truth, separated by time, but bound by the weight of an ancient system. On this crisp autumn morning in Madrid, we do not just perform—we claim our voices, our rage, our right to resist.
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Cinema has always been the art that mirrors our innermost shadows, a space where beauty and truth collide. In El llanto, I step into Andrea’s unraveling world, a girl caught in time, haunted by ghosts only she can see. There is a certain elegance in isolation, in those moments when the silence of the universe becomes overwhelming, pushing you to the brink of madness. The characters I portray are not merely written on a page—they exist, shaped by history, their lives stained with the invisible ink of patriarchy.
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I find power in bringing their stories to life, embodying the sultry mystery and fragile strength that define them. With every frame, I feel the weight of their journey, a reflection of the deep-rooted fears and desires that reside within all of us. Cinema has this unique ability to transform us, to peel back the layers of our souls and reveal the truths we often hide. Through these characters, I channel that transformative energy, one that is both delicate and fierce.
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"Many times women are neither believed nor listened to and we are called crazy for attitudes that do not question men."

Isolation and madness—they are both born from the same root, nourished by a society that stifles and silences, especially women. In El llanto, this theme comes alive, a haunting reflection of how the world reduces us, drives us to the brink of hysteria, and then blames us for losing control. I’ve always believed that cinema holds a mirror to the truth, no matter how terrifying. In this film, the violence is subtle yet suffocating, an invisible hand that erases everything we love. As Andrea, I live through this suffocation, this dismissal of my pain as hysteria. The rejection of anything different—that’s the core of our tragedy. I’ve seen it so many times, the world punishes difference.
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"There is an instinctive rejection of the unknown, because it makes us feel insecure."

Yet in this darkness, there’s light in the solidarity we share as women, the quiet power in standing together, reclaiming our stories. For me, for Mathilde, for Malena—we stand at the crossroads of a changing world, our voices, and our art illuminating the path forward. The future looks bright, not because the world has suddenly changed, but because we continue to push for it. Through art, through cinema, we find the courage to face our fears, to challenge the systems that hold us down. And in this shared journey, we find hope.
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