A tragic philosopher lurking in delusion finds purpose through a kindred spirit in this remarkable satirical cinema at its finest.
“Why do I want to be a poet? Can I make a living out of it?” asks the student to her teacher, with a glare that demands a response. The teacher gazes back at her, takes a moment, and replies—“Didn’t you like the pie?”
Can poetry save a soul, or does it only prolong the fall? As abstract as it sounds, poetry is a subjective form of art that doesn’t wait for a person to comprehend it—it travels through dimensions to ignite something within. A single phrase can carry numerous meanings, rippling out and landing differently for each person: awe for some, a joke for others. But passion elevates recognition to greater heights, provided it is practiced in the right place and with integrity—one wrong turn, and the whole foundation collapses.
Oscar Restrepo (Ubeimar Rios) is not an ordinary man. As a poet, he preaches about poetry in the forgotten corners of the world—places where progress never comes. With a failing career and an estranged father, all Oscar wants is to be a successful poet—not for gold or fame, but to pour his devotion into the art, even if it gives nothing back and ruins him. On this self-destructive journey, he encounters a young girl, Yurlady (Rebeca Andrade), who writes soulful poems that awaken him. As he brings her into his world of poetry—and as she tries to mold herself into a biased art form devoid of meaning—a collision of serendipity and destruction begins, leading to a chaotic discovery.
Director Simón Mesa Soto visualizes Oscar as a disillusioned martyr of his own passion, chasing hollow milestones and invoking forgotten visionaries that lead nowhere. A fallen idealist posing as a misunderstood genius, Oscar is a moth drawn to a false flame—trapped in a futile pursuit. Even his fleeting smiles are weighted with despair, as if he teeters on the edge of collapse. The 16mm shots, dusty and imperfect, echo the confusion within his delusional mind—every smudge a reflection of inner mess. But the film’s unspoken truth lies deeper: the duplicitous successors who thrive in a world obsessed with recognition, guilt-tripping protégés away from integrity. Mesa Soto loudly exposes these biased opportunists—survivalists who sacrifice others for personal gain. In the tradition of Radu Jude, his satirical and tragicomic vision paints a world where existential dread erodes dreamers, pushing them toward self-annihilation.
The rare kindred connection between Yurlady and Oscar clings to the free will of the younger generation—unburdened by politics or the perfectionism that sterilizes creativity. Through her poetic lines, he discovers his own purpose. Each line she writes unravels something dormant in him; her ink becomes his fire, every stanza pulls him deeper, awakening a passion he never knew he carried. The director conjures a magical infusion of passion, where one’s fragility is transformed by another’s talent—a philosophical exchange. At the same time, Mesa Soto captures the delicate psyche of teenagers, the sociological mindset of underprivileged communities, and the extremism of a man willing to sacrifice everything for his dream—three dangerous layers combined, leading to a much larger explosion of unfortunate events, similar to the aura confined in Dancer in the Dark.
Simón Mesa Soto’s A Poet is an artsy, mind-bending, yet profoundly effective satire. It carves out something fresh amid chaotic battles of misguided passion and manipulative ambition, anchored by Ubeimar Rios’s deeply satisfying, career-defining performance. The film not only embodies the spirit of Un Certain Regard—it becomes its purest expression, boldly embracing every facet of daring cinema. Though tinted with melancholy and naïveté, it ultimately offers hope—an invisible, evolving purpose that emerges from misery, growing into something deeper, warmer, and brighter.
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