Alanito is bored of his life in Paris. His mother is something of a dilettante, embracing guests into her Parisian home. He feels more comfortable with “the help”, particularly Manolo and Maruja, who treat him to port and teach him Spanish. Suddenly, Maruja receives news that causes her to return home, while Alanito tags along with the aging couple in the hope of discovering more exciting out of life.

Speak Sunlight is sumptiously filmed, capturing a Europe in technicolour glory. The cinematography recalls the vivid directorial setpieces in Land and Freedom (Ken Loach, 1995), putting a heavy focus on the scenery that surrounds and serenades the central characters. In one impressive take, director Carol Polakoff showcases a bus going over a bridge, gently pulling the character further from the terrain to expose the countryside.Like Alanito, the land shapes Manolo’s experiences and memories, bringing him headfirst into the present.

Manolo is portrayed by Karra Elejalde, a seasoned veteran on the Spanish stage and screen. He delivers the most soulful performance in the movie; his eyes conveying a sadness time won’t allow him to forget. There is guilt residing in that head: a pool where old faces remind him of the violence he has withstood. Similar to Loach’s Land and Freedom, the protagonists have faced off fascists in their quest for inner peace, but the scars – naked to the human eye – have left an imprint on Manolo.

Considering that this is his first film, Matteo Artunedo is strong in the role of Alanito, demonstrating an innocence that is commonplace in teenagers; Alanito barely understands the concept of sex, let alone embraced a naked partner. It’s in San Fermin that the adolescent comes face-to-face with a picture of Ernest Hemingway, a writer who left an impression on the myriad runners tagging with the bulls. In this land tainted by blood and violence (Maruja is captured bleeding in the shower, much to Manolo’s evident concern), art has prevailed. And just in time, as The Beatles have arrived in Madrid!

Polakoff is keenly interested in reviving this vision of the 1960s: a stark contrast to the kaleidoscopic colours that were enjoyed in London and San Francisco. Speak Sunlight showcases a nation governed by Franco’s politics, a style of government that was vastly different to most of Europe. (For context, Spain were denied entry into the European Economic Community in 1962 because it lacked a “democratic regime”, and were only permitted to join the European Union in 1986; a decade after the dictator died.)

The 1960s in Spain was a time of contrast, and the change left a grand impression on the inhabitants. Whether by nature, or by volition, Manolo struggles to live as vicariously as his countrymen advise him to. “I never knew my father,” one man tells him. “But you are here, so live.” In a land decorated by unfulfilled promises and broken dreams, Manolo struggles to find a direction: forwards or backwards. Like many men, he would put his woman’s needs over his own, and he looks genuinely devastated when he discovers Maruja in pain.

There is some French at the beginning, amidst splashes of English, but for the most part Speak Sunlight is executed in Spanish. Authenticity centres the work, and as a historical portrait, Polakoff’s feature successfully translates the time period to the big screen. Occasionally, the picture is guilty of showcasing the countryside at the expense of the actors – some of the exteriors could have been pruned for a more economical runtime – Alicia Lobo comes across a little too mean as Alanito’s mother (she sneers at him for his bad grades with a tone that’s more aggressive than passive.) But these are minor issues: Speak Sunlight is a fable worthy of Hemingway himself.

Speak Sunlight premiered at La Femme International Film, Festival.