Some films are easier to trust than memories, and Blue Heron is one of them. The long-awaited feature debut by Canadian-Hungarian director Sophy Romvari stays true to the investigative streak of her short films Nine Behind, Remembrance of József Romvári and Still Processing, which, in one way or another, excavate her family’s past. Blue Heron, premiering in the Filmmakers of the Present section of this year’s Locarno Film Festival, expands the scope of her search for new cinematic expressions of memory and grief, and the reclamation of these, by letting the audience in on a Hungarian family of six and their new life, having moved to a new place on Vancouver Island.

Thanks to the meticulous but unobtrusive work of production designer Victoria Furuya, we’re transported to a 1990s home that takes no time to feel lived-in, almost as soon as the father (Ádám Tompa) and eldest son Jeremy (Edik Beddoes) move in the single, flower-patterned mattress for the latter’s basement room. Sasha (Eylul Guven), being the youngest, is the most receptive to moods and fluctuations, and even though the film doesn't rely on conventional point-of-view shots or framing, cinematographer Maya Bankovic is just as observant of the pulsating tension around Jeremy’s erratic, often defiant behaviour. That said, the film is tactful enough to include a variety of scenes that, through snippets of conversations or events, show Jeremy’s quiet adoration towards his younger siblings, as well as tantrums. The teenager’s mental health emerges as one of Blue Heron’s main concerns, seen through Sasha’s shy attempts to decipher signs of angst and depression.

Even those unfamiliar with Romvari’s work would recognise a vibrancy and tenderness indicative of lived experience, but the epithet "personal" seems too flat to describe Blue Heron as a film on its own terms. More so, the scenes drenched in late-afternoon summer light are so tactile in every aspect – the performances in a mix of Hungarian and English, a kind of blocking as if the house had no walls, the tight close-ups on glances exchanged – that they might as well be the product of a particularly vivid sense memory. Perhaps they are, as the second part of the film welcomes an older Sasha (Amy Zimmer), who is now a filmmaker working on a project that eventually brings the viewer back to the family home. The precise way it’s done is nothing short of outstanding – thanks to a subtle shift in perspective linking past and present, Romvari aligns fragments of a memory so that they can make sense. But what makes the poeticism of Blue Heron so profoundly touching is the way the film lets Sasha figure out what she requires, as a daughter, a sister and a filmmaker, and do exactly what she needs to do. It’s beautiful to witness a mixture of character intentionality and freedom to explore, within the framework of an assured, emotionally eloquent debut feature.

Blue Heron was produced by Nine Behind (Canada), in co-production with Hungarian company Boddah. Spain’s MoreThan Films handles the international sales.