Thaw melts the silence of Chile’s past

Cannes 2026: “Thaw” Turns Chile’s Frozen Silence Into Haunting Cinema

One of the most emotionally haunting films presented in the Un Certain Regard section at the Cannes Film Festival 2026 is undoubtedly Thaw (Dégel), directed by Chilean filmmaker Manuela Martelli.

Following her acclaimed debut Chile ’76, Martelli once again explores the invisible scars left by dictatorship — but this time through the fragile and observant eyes of childhood.

Set in Chile in 1992, the film takes place shortly after the official return to democracy following Augusto Pinochet’s military regime. While the country publicly attempts to present itself as modern and forward-looking, unresolved trauma continues to linger beneath the surface.

The story follows nine-year-old Inés, who spends time with her grandparents at a mountain hotel in a snowy ski resort. There she befriends Hanna, a young German athlete. When Hanna suddenly disappears, Inés slowly begins to uncover the lies, silences and hidden tensions surrounding the adults around her.

Rather than constructing a traditional mystery thriller, Martelli creates an atmosphere-driven film where emotional unease becomes the true narrative engine.

Snow dominates nearly every frame, functioning both as a visual motif and as a metaphor for historical memory buried beneath layers of silence. The title Thaw itself suggests the gradual return of hidden truths.

Visually, the film is stunning. Cinematographer Benjamín Echazarreta captures the Chilean landscapes with a cold beauty that constantly oscillates between innocence and menace.

But the film’s greatest strength lies in its restraint.

Martelli avoids direct depictions of political violence. Instead, trauma manifests through interrupted conversations, uncomfortable silences and the quiet confusion of a child entering the morally ambiguous world of adults.

In interviews included in the press material, Martelli explains that historical wounds do not simply disappear — they scar over while continuing to exist beneath the surface. That philosophy shapes every aspect of the film.

The political dimension of Thaw is subtle yet deeply powerful. The film reflects on how post-dictatorship societies negotiate memory, silence and denial. Martelli also draws connections between Chile’s democratic transition and broader geopolitical transformations following the collapse of ideological blocs in the early 1990s.

At times, the film’s deliberate pacing and ambiguity may frustrate viewers expecting conventional dramatic structure. Yet its hypnotic rhythm becomes part of the experience.

Martelli openly cites influences such as The Spirit of the Beehive, Cría Cuervos and Au revoir les enfants, films where childhood becomes a lens through which societies reveal their deepest fears and contradictions.

Inés herself becomes a symbolic figure: a child learning not only about secrets, but about the fragile foundations upon which adult societies are often built.

In a Cannes selection frequently dominated by louder and more demonstrative works, Thaw stands out through silence, atmosphere and emotional precision.

It is not simply a film about Chile’s past.

It is a film about everything societies choose to bury — until the ice finally begins to melt.