Olivia (Tina Sconochini) is a young woman living a rather solitary life in the mountains somewhere in the Argentinian part of Tierra del Fuego, Patagonia. Yet Olivia, the debut feature by Argentinian director Sofía Petersen, premiering in Locarno’s Filmmakers of the Present competition, is interested in her only insofar as she remains unknowable: she does little for herself, barely speaking, sleeping by day, roaming by night. One day, her father – who works at the local slaughterhouse – vanishes without a trace, and his disappearance thrusts Olivia into adulthood, or at least onto a path towards it.

Both impenetrable and feeble, the main character determines the essence of the film, and as a result, Olivia is a mood-driven movie that (perhaps unintentionally) masquerades as a feeling-driven one. That is not to say that all protagonists should be legible to the point of predictability, especially not in the kind of cinema that interests Sofía Petersen, but there is something missing in the film’s fine-grained, well-saturated images. It is notable that the feature has the power to slow down such a dramatic narrative turn until it resembles a drawn-out erosion of the plot. Throughout the lengthy, crackling episodes of Olivia’s pilgrimage, the audience is left to wonder what is real and what is a particularly beautiful but lofty metaphor.

One thing is certain: Petersen’s work is rich in textures and interpretations, and the courage she shows with Olivia is praiseworthy. The Argentinian director, fresh out of film school, already seems settled in a kind of experimental cinema that relies on rhythm and organic flow, both inherited from the place it was filmed in. Olivia was shot between Tolhuin and Río Grande in Tierra del Fuego, an archipelago on the southern tip of the continent, on 16 mm Kodak Ektachrome film by Owain Wilshaw. Choosing a film stock that has been recently brought back into production is in itself a symbolic act, no less than Olivia’s return to her father’s workplace, where animal blood runs like a river.

Petersen’s tribute is also literal, especially since she has credited the workers of the municipal slaughterhouse where they shot the film alongside the actors, showcasing the will to not only make space for people within the film industry, but also outside of it, by acknowledging them in extra-narrative ways. However, the fact that Olivia insists on keeping its protagonist as opaque as possible runs the risk of alienating viewers who are not predisposed to look for the pure “vibe” of experimental film. To those fortuitous enough to enjoy a two-hour, mystery-laden meditation on loss, Petersen’s (who also wrote and edited the film) work could be the perfect place to take refuge in from the merciless outside world.

Olivia was produced by Animitas (Argentina/UK) in co-production with Vitrine Filmes (Spain).