The film opens up with a brief history of Basque terrorist ETA, which was founded in 1958 with the sole purpose of achieving Basque independence from Spain. During the Franco years, the organisation murdered 44 people, including Prime Minister Luis Carrero Blanco in 1973. After Franco died in 1975 and Spain transitioned to democracy, part of the group gave up the armed struggle. Yet another faction became even more radicalised, claiming more than 400 victims in the 1980s. As a consequence, the Spanish Guardia Civil, the nation’s gendarmerie recruited hundreds of officers in order to Basque terrorism in th 1990s.
The film begins in 1994. Amaia (played with quiet assurance by Susana Abaitua) is a police officer without much of a personal history. Her mother is severely disabled and her father died years earlier. This makes her the perfect candidate to become a supergrass. She accepts the dangerous position without blinking. For the next 10 years, Amaia relays vital information about ETA to the Spanish authorities. She engages in profound relationships – friendly and romantic – with the leading members of the much feared organisation. Her ultimate objective is to locate ETA’s five arm depots (“zulos”), located across the Basque country in Spain and Southern France.
Amaia has to resort to very creative methods in order to conceal her communication with the police, such as hiding the garbage inside a hidden elevator chamber, and handing notes to passersby. She nearly gets caught when she meets her boss in a hotel. She understands that the consequences of being uncovered would be very dear: she would be summarily executed. She becomes a trusted member after nearly killing a police officer, as part of an operation gone terribly awry.
Subtle and peculiar twists help to keep viewers engaged for the film’s auspicious duration of 105 minutes. Die-hard genre fans might be a little disappointed. Despite the central topic of violence, this is not your average police thriller: there are no diabolical villains, gratuitous bang-bang, wild car chases, ticking clocks and cliffhangers. The more measures pace of the story is more akin to a psychological drama. The film neither glamourises violence nor idolises the police. the characters are multidimensional. They are capable of both profound affection and barbaric violence. This includes the police, too. The law enforcers are prepared to use illegal means – including torture – in order to achieve their purposes.
The entire movie is dotted with the names ETA’s most prominent victims, archive footage of crime scenes, as well as powerful images the enormous protests both inside the Basque country and in Spain demanding that disarmament. One of ETA’s most recognisable victims around the time in which the film is set was rightwing politician Gregorio Ordóñez, the deputy mayor of San Sebastián (the city where much of the story takes place). But the list is very extensive. ETA routinely killed journalists, lawyers, and even leftwing politicians.
She Walks in Darkness is a film of good taste, on many levels. It boasts a vibrant soundtrack by Italian singer and actress Mina. The classics Grande Grande Grande and Parole Parole are played multiple times on the radio. The tune choice is a clever way the police chiefs found to send a message to Amaia. A fabulous twist at the end forces French artists Dalida and Alain Delon to step forward and deliver the latter tune in lieu of the Italian diva.
This Netflix production provides some fascinating insight into the operations that led to the eventual dismantling of ETA in 2011. Ultimately, it demonstrates that violence is an obsolete currency in a truly democratic society. It’s also a tribute to both the Basque and the Spanish people, and a reminder that that self-determination and peaceful coexistence are not mutually exclusive. It is possible to retain your national identity without resorting to extreme tactics. Overall, this is an insightful and engaging watch.
She Walks in Darkness premiered in the Official Competition of the 73rd San Sebastian International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. Out on Netflix on Friday, October 17th.
