52 Films by Women Vol 9. 19. Sorda (Deaf) (Director: Eva Libertad)

Pictured: Ángela (Miriam Garlo) expecting her first child and greeted by the family dog in a scene from the Spanish film, 'Sorda' ('Deaf'), written and directed by Eva Libertad, expanding her 2021 short of the same name. Still courtesy of Latido Films (Spain), Curzon (UK)

The specific, we are often reminded, is universal. This is demonstrated by the Spanish film Sorda (Deaf), the feature debut of writer-director Eva Libertad, expanding her 2021 short. Sorda follows deaf potter Ángela (Miriam Garlo, the director’s sister) through pregnancy, birth and early motherhood as she struggles against displacement in the family. ‘I can speak for myself,’ she reminds others. It is not so much her role in the family that is under threat but her language - signing. Sorda could be about any community member whose language - and, by extension, lifeblood - is threatened by dominant social norms.

The film is not merely specific. It feels authentic. No melodrama, just a series of moments. Libertad trusts that a series of vignettes is sufficient to hold the audience’s attention. It is more than enough. We watch a deaf woman living with a hearing partner and working - with her hands - in a skilled profession integrated into society and with her own social circle. The problem is others not accommodating her, forgetting her deafness. ‘Why don’t you wear hearing aids?’ she is asked. When Ángela enters a nursery bearing a cake for young daughter Ona (played by various children from 0 to 21 months), we discover the reason. Background noise is heavy and troubling. A child banging a toy on the table sounds like a loud destructive act.

I don’t think I’ve seen a more poignant moment in a recent movie than the scene in which Ona is with her father, Hector (Álvaro Cervantes) with Ángela in the background and Ona utters her first word, ‘agua’ (water). Ángela does not hear it. Hector is elated. He tells Ángela, who is unimpressed. We feel for a woman who is unable to experience some of the joys of motherhood, at least as a hearing audience sees them. Yet Ángela is right to be unimpressed. What she wants is Ona to be able to talk to her. But how do you get a very young child to talk with their hands when sounds are easier to copy?

You feel for Ángela constantly. In one scene, she and Hector are in a nursery with young Ona as the leader involves parents in a song about animal noises (‘what sound does a cow make?’). Parents respond enthusiastically but when it is Ona’s parents turn, the leader asks Hector. The film is filled with micro-exclusions, reminders that accommodation of deafness - or by extension other cultures - isn’t the social norm. Inclusion needs to be taught and experienced as a positive. In many countries in 2025, including my own, this isn’t the case.

From the film’s opening, in which Ángela takes her dog for a walk, deafness is not problematised when used in conjunction with sight and gesture. Ángela steps over a set of rocks to cross a stream. The dog hesitates. Ángela looks at the dog, calls out and slaps her knees. The dog obediently follows.

In her home when the doorbell rings, a red light flashes. An adaptation. Ángela’s parents (Joaquin Nótario, Elena Irureta) have come to visit. Ángela is reluctant to tell them she is pregnant, sensing that they will not be sympathetic. As if to test the idea, after her mother comments on how well she looks, Ángela raises the prospect of a child. ‘Oh no, you don’t need that,’ Angela’s mother responds. Ángela decides to announce her pregnancy regardless.

Libertad chooses not to compare the attitudes of Ángela’s parents with those of Hector. Hector’s father is mentioned - a visit is planned for Ona’s birthday in late September - but never seen. Libertad explores the feeling of being an adult child raised by parents who dealt with her disability but to some extent have outgrown it. When a child becomes an adult, a parent tries less. It is significant too that Ángela’s father doesn’t contradict Ángela’s mother. We sense that he does not have a natural love for his daughter, that the emotions connected with fatherhood - pride, a willingness to protect a child against adversity - escape him.

Micro exclusions continue when Ángela and her parents buy a baby monitor. Ángela has specific concerns but Ángela’s mother does the talking. Ángela doesn’t want her parents to buy the most expensive device - she treats the purchase as if she was making it herself, which is entirely laudable in my book. However, the cheaper device might not be suitable. ‘If you’re serving a deaf person, you should learn to sign,’ Ángela admonishes the shop assistant. In the end, she leaves her parents to choose the monitor.

Ángela’s family is contrasted with her colleagues, who throw a party for her, Ángela having been told that her employer wants to see her in his office. Food, beers - it is like any celebration. All her colleagues have learned sign language and they respect her skill and work ethic. By contrast, we never find out what Hector does for a living or see him at work. This is a film about a woman not a couple, for an understandable reason. The burden on the mother exceeds that of the father.

There are numerous distressing scenes, notably showing Ángela in labour. The hospital staff forget that the mother-to-be is deaf. Their protocols show no adaptation. In frustration, Ángela pulls down one of the nurse’s face masks so she can lip read. At the beginning of her contractions, Hector is by her side, conveying instructions to her. Ángela’s epidural is particularly painful - and discreetly shown - but the pain passes. However the epidural doesn’t numb the cervix. As Ángela pushes, she is in agony. The nurses turn Ángela on her side and usher Hector out of the room. Suddenly he can no longer help her. The nurses consider a ‘c’ section to ensure delivery of a healthy child. Not only does Ángela experience the pain of childbirth, she is confused. So much for a birth plan.

Then Ángela has to deal with the question of whether the child will be able to hear. While Ángela is pregnant, doctors cannot tell. When Ona is born, a hearing test is inconclusive. This question marks the beginning of Ángela’s separation from her baby daughter. In their kitchen-diner, she watches Hector click his fingers close to baby Ona’s ears and is appalled, as if hearing is unimportant.

Pictured: Hector (Álvaro Cervantes) and Ángela (Miriam Garlo) in a film from the Spanish drama, 'Sorda' ('Deaf'), written and directed by Eva Libertad. Still courtesy of Latido Films (Spain), Curzon (UK)

Finally, the family receives confirmation. This creates a new problem: how can Ángela ever properly bond with her child? As a hearing audience, we are shocked when Ángela plays ear defenders on Ona’s head in order to simulate deafness. We understand Ángela’s motives but find it extreme. The child swats the ear defenders from her head; they are an irritant. When Hector sees Ángela try this a second time, he is appalled. The couple row, but there is worse to come.

When in the company of friends, Ángela looks at a boy who has a deaf parent. He is constantly seen playing with a games console, isolated from the others. We intuit that Ángela worries that Ona may be similarly isolated. Ángela, who can speak, but does so sparingly, tries to engage him. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Listening to music.’ In spite of her efforts, she can’t share the young boy’s world. We understand her frustration.

Pictured: The struggle to connect. Hector (Álvaro Cervantes) and Ángela (Miriam Garlo) in a scene from the Spanish drama, 'Sorda' ('Deaf'), written and directed by Eva Libertad. Still courtesy of Latido Films (Spain), Curzon (UK) 

At a party with Hector and Ona, Ángela feels more isolated. She is invited to go dancing. One of the group of deaf friends knows a place. ‘Who cares if it is expensive?’ Ángela experiences the heavy bass and dances. There are comments from other clubbers. Ángela notices the special attention. ‘What are you looking at?’ she asks an individual whom Libertad does not show. Dancing is not a means to connect with others rather to lose oneself in an adults only public space.

The film builds to a row between Hector and Ángela. Ángela spent 30 minutes in the shower. While she searches for her phone charger, Hector tells her that she has delayed their journey. He was up two hours ago. Ángela voices her frustrations. Why did Hector marry a deaf woman? He chose this life. In the end, Ángela doesn’t visit Hector’s father but drives by herself to her friends’ villa by the beach. Questions are asked but silenced. Her friends don’t intrude on Ángela’s marriage.

When Ángela returns home, Hector tells her that he is going to bed. Their relationship has cooled, but it has not ended. In the film’s final scene, young Ona and Ángela are having a picnic. Ona appears to mimic Ángela’s hand movements.

Sorda gives a hearing audience a greater appreciation of the experience of a deaf person, no more than when Libertad changes the sound perspective, so that we can no longer hear speech rather a residual distorting sound (the deaf do not experience silence). This transition occurs when Ángela is at her most distressed, but turns her from an object to a subject. This doesn’t increase our empathy since we recognise it as a dramatic device but it does magnify our understanding. It is as if an individual has to experience life through crashing waves.

Some films signify an auspicious start to a filmmaker’s career. Others exist as a singular work, the apotheosis of everything an artist wishes to express. Sorda is the latter. It doesn’t matter if Libertad makes another film. People should watch this one. Watch. Learn. Extrapolate.

Reviewed at Galeries Cinema, Brussels International Film Festival, Sunday 22 June 2025, 18:30 screening and Curzon Westgate Canterbury (Screen One), Saturday 6 September 2025, 11:00am screening