ND/NF ’25: The Lost Chapters

Venezuela has no future, so Ena’s father obsessively preserves its literary past. Due to political and economic conditions, he closed the family’s bookstore, but he still regularly buys large collections for a museum of Venezuelan books that will most likely never come to be. Yet, not even he has a copy of the rare 1912 novel she starts searching for in Lorena Alvarado’s The Lost Chapters, which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films.

Ena is taking a break from school and the stress of life with her father and her increasingly Bidenesque grandmother (Mamama). Apparently, her mother is taking a permanent break in Madrid. The circumstances are unclear, but it does not seem to bother her father. One day, while puttering around the family bookstore with her father, she discovers an old postcard that mentions an obscure novel the sender suspects was written by a notorious Venezuelan author under a pseudonym.

This launches Ena’s quest for a book that might not even exist. Of course, her father can totally respect that. Unfortunately, Mamama might be drifting further away, so Ena also seeks the full text of the partial poem the elderly woman constantly recites, hoping it might rekindle her memory.

Periodically, there are references to the utter chaos plaguing Venezuela, but they are always oblique. In fact, Ena’s family appears almost hermetically sealed-off from the outside world. There is a sense of disconnection, isolation, and ennui that might be preferable to the police-state realities of the Maduro regime. Yet, that reality is one of the driving motivations for her father’s preservation campaign. It also explains why he has so much time on his hands.

Regardless, the family’s detachment from the outside world robs the film of a lot of its potential metaphorical power. Viewers could have seen a tragic parallel between the country’s deliberate amnesia regarding its own recent history and Mamama’s memory loss due to dementia—but Alvarado only vaguely hints at such ironic echoes.

Arguably, Alvarado’s sedate tone and laidback reserve are assets that quickly become liabilities. Frankly, the experience of watching Lost Chapters often feels like being a house-guest staying with a family you barely know. You spend a lot of time in a comfortable home, but you feel no connection.

It is a shame, because Alvarado and cinematographer Jose Ostos frame many lovely shots. Ignacio Alvarado is also wonderfully charismatic as Ena’s father, in a sophisticatedly literate yet still dad-like way.

The Lost Chapters holds the potential for Umberto Eco-esque literary intrigue, but it never comes close to fulfilling that promise. Nevertheless, it delivers some of the best PR for early 20^th Century Venezuelan literature since who knows when? Alvarado started with an intriguing concept—but the execution lacks dramatic weight. There is not enough meat on these bones to recommend The Lost Chapters, but Alvarado is clearly a thoughtful filmmaker, so hopefully her next film will be just as cerebral yet also more engaging. For now, The Lost Chapters screens today (4/3) and Saturday (4/5) as part of ND/NF ’25.