There’s an awkward period of time from when someone graduates high school until they’re considered an adult; a grey area wherein they’re expected to assume the emotional maturity of a grown-up, yet are devoid of the experiences that have shaped such growth. It’s this grey area that the two leads of the film find themselves grappling with in writer/director Marlene Emilia Rios’ Lucia & Nicole. Through the film, the titular characters come to understand that adulthood isn’t defined by the degree of hardships you’ve been through, but the degree of compassion you hold onto.
It’s quietly reaffirming messages like these that are at the center of Lucia & Nicole, which follows a community college student, the innocent Lucia (Romance Suarez), and her mother, the compassionate Ximena (Lisette Nichols). Driving home one day, they run into Lucia’s childhood best friend, the reserved Nicole (Claudia Levis), who is living on the streets. What appears to be a simple setup is revealed to have immense complications as the layers of Lucia and Nicole’s complex relationship are peeled back.
What one first notices is the film’s distinctive visual style. Shooting on Kodak film smartly gives a tactile nostalgia to a story about characters who are firmly seated in the past. The cinematography – shot with a reserved yet assured eye by Garrett Smith – is simultaneously warm and hollow. By positioning characters close to the frame and leaving spatial depth either behind or in front of them, we feel an emotional resonance with our leads, yet understand the lingering emptiness present in their lives. That is, until Lucia and Nicole finally reconnect. The cinematography then shifts to an approach that incorporates handheld shots with close-ups of the natural world around them. As a result, we, like the leads, come down to earth and appreciate the beauty that lies beneath a perceived emptiness.
The hollowness we feel within the film’s visual language is echoed through the performances. By the leads – Suarez and Levis – exchanging a simple glance, we understand the depth of what each wants to say to the other, but feels they can’t. There’s a whole world beneath their eyes, and it’s a tribute to the acting and precise direction by Rios that we experience this underlying struggle. In this vein, the performances elevate the central stylistic spirit of the film: A restraint and respect towards the viewers, demonstrated by showing the lived-in feelings of this emotionally poignant story.
That being said, as Lucia and Nicole reconnect, the film briefly uses their dialogue to tell us what they’re feeling, rather than show us. The performances operate so powerfully independent of this direct explanation that this added layer is somewhat unnecessary. The film feels stronger when it emphasizes the silence between the girls, hinting at the unexplored emotions rather than laying them out in front of us. In this regard, the film may have benefited from leaving the quiet moments strung out between them, continuing to circle ideas like longing, guilt, and affection rather than addressing them directly.
However, this minor critique is simply a testament to how precisely calculated, controlled, and emotionally effective the rest of the film is. Although it briefly tells rather than shows us the unexplored feelings, it just as quickly rediscovers its precisely guided emotional core. We’re then left with a shot that beautifully encapsulates the spirit and style of Lucia & Nicole: Stillness, control, and an undeniable emotional component that doesn’t throw a feeling in your face, but invites you into its softly moving nature. We’ve only spent nine minutes with them, but by the end, we feel for them as they feel for each other: A deep sense of caring, compassion, and curiosity for the next steps of their lives.
