Why Watch Érase una vez en Euskadi?
Érase una vez en Euskadi offers a rare, authentic perspective on childhood during one of Spain’s most turbulent periods. The film follows four 12-year-old boys through a summer in 1985 Basque Country, where ETA violence, the heroin epidemic, and AIDS crisis formed the backdrop of their adolescence. Director Manu Gómez crafts this coming-of-age story from his own memories, presenting a non-romanticized view that balances youthful innocence with historical gravity.
An Authentic Historical Window into 1980s Basque Country
The film serves as a documented account of a specific moment in Spanish history that mainstream cinema often overlooks. Set during the peak of ETA’s terror campaign in 1985, the story captures the Basque Country when political violence reached its height and social tensions affected daily life at every level.
What separates this film from typical historical dramas is its ground-level perspective. Rather than focusing on political leaders or major events, Gómez shows how ordinary families—particularly immigrant workers from Andalusia—navigated this environment. The children collect rubber bullets fired at protesters, distinguishing between the softer rounds used by local police and the harder bullets from the Guardia Civil. These small details reveal how violence became normalized in everyday life.
The period setting extends beyond political conflict. The film addresses three interconnected crises that devastated the region: ETA terrorism claimed lives through car bombs and targeted killings; heroin addiction spread rapidly through working-class communities; and the AIDS epidemic took a generation of young adults. Director Manu Gómez described this era as “a bad time for big brothers,” referencing the many who died from overdoses, AIDS complications, or political violence.
The production team shot on location across nine Basque towns including Arrasate (the director’s hometown), Bergara, Eibar, and Oñati. This geographical authenticity reinforces the film’s documentary-like quality, showing actual streets where these events unfolded.
Exceptional Cinematography That Elevates the Story
Cinematographer Javier Salmones employs a distinctive visual approach that transforms the film from standard period piece into immersive experience. The camera consistently stays at the boys’ eye level, creating an authentic child’s perspective that draws viewers into their world rather than observing from adult remove.
The tracking shots through cobbled streets capture the kinetic energy of childhood—the boys running from mischief, exploring their town, claiming their territory. These sequences contrast sharply with the static, oppressive imagery of industrial landscapes: grey prefabricated concrete buildings, factory smokestacks, and graffiti-covered walls that document political slogans and territorial claims.
Color grading plays a significant role in the film’s emotional architecture. The industrial environment receives muted, grey treatment that emphasizes the economic hardship and political tension. Against this backdrop, the boys’ bedrooms burst with color—rock and punk posters covering walls, bright clothing, vibrant energy—creating visual metaphor for how childhood innocence persists even in hostile environments.
Close-up work becomes particularly powerful during emotional turning points. When characters confront death, loss, or harsh realities, Salmones shifts to intimate framing that captures the precise moment when childhood understanding gives way to adult awareness. These shots document the gradual erosion of innocence without sentimentality.
The visual language also incorporates period-authentic elements: 1980s fashion, vintage vehicles, analog technology, and specific cultural markers like cycling culture and neighborhood dynamics. This attention to visual detail supports the film’s authenticity without becoming distractingly nostalgic.
A Coming-of-Age Story That Avoids Sentimentality
Most coming-of-age films romanticize childhood or present growth as a series of gentle lessons. Érase una vez en Euskadi rejects both approaches, showing how the four boys mature through exposure to genuine hardship rather than manufactured conflict.
The four main characters represent different responses to their environment. Marcos, played by Asier Flores, pursues competitive cycling despite limited talent, embodying determination against overwhelming odds. His parents worry constantly about expenses and his safety. Toni (Aitor Calderón) wanders streets with his dog Blackie, essentially raising himself while his mother remains absent and his brother Maserati spirals into heroin addiction. José Antonio (Hugo García) idolizes his older brother Felix, who becomes increasingly involved with ETA, creating a painful conflict between familial loyalty and moral awareness. Paquito (Miguel Rivera) watches his father make awkward attempts to assimilate into Basque culture, including wearing an ill-fitting beret.
The film doesn’t present these situations as problems to solve. Instead, it shows how the boys navigate circumstances beyond their control. They pool pesetas to rent pornographic videos, collect protest bullets as trophies, experience first romantic feelings, and maintain their friendship while their families struggle. The narrative treats their agency seriously while acknowledging the limits of what 12-year-olds can influence.
Critical moments in the film refuse easy resolution. When tragedy strikes—and it does, repeatedly—the characters don’t emerge with neat lessons or transformed perspectives. They continue forward because there’s no alternative, carrying losses that will shape them permanently. This approach feels truer to actual experience than the redemptive arcs common in the genre.
The boys come from “maketo” families—a term for non-Basque immigrants, particularly from southern Spain. This immigrant perspective adds another layer to the coming-of-age narrative. They’re growing up in a place that considers them outsiders, navigating not just adolescence but also cultural identity and belonging. The film explores how children adapt more easily than adults to new environments, forming friendships and claiming identity even as their parents face discrimination.
A Multilayered Exploration of Friendship Under Pressure
The friendship between the four boys provides the emotional core that holds the film together through increasingly difficult circumstances. Their bond isn’t idealized—they argue, compete, and sometimes fail each other—but it persists because they share experiences no one else can fully understand.
The film shows how friendship functions differently under sustained stress. In stable environments, friends share activities and interests. In crisis conditions, friendship becomes survival mechanism. The boys protect each other’s vulnerabilities, create normalcy through routine interactions, and provide the only consistent element in lives marked by family dysfunction and external violence.
Specific scenes illustrate this dynamic. When they pool money for small pleasures, it’s not just about the activity but about creating shared experiences separate from family troubles. When they explore their neighborhood, they’re claiming autonomy and building a sense of place in a community that doesn’t fully accept their families. When they discuss events they don’t fully understand—violence, drugs, politics—they’re helping each other process trauma without adequate adult guidance.
The script, written by Gómez while listening to a soundtrack he created for each character, captures authentic dialogue patterns. The boys speak as children actually speak—incomplete thoughts, rapid subject changes, bravado mixed with genuine fear, cruelty and kindness emerging without clear boundaries. This authenticity extends to their interactions with adults, which oscillate between obedience, rebellion, and the awkward in-between space where children test boundaries while still seeking approval.
As the summer progresses and real loss enters their lives, the friendship evolves. The film documents subtle shifts—increased protectiveness, unspoken understanding, moments of mature emotional support that emerge instinctively. These changes reflect genuine development rather than scripted character arcs.
Historical Context That Enriches Understanding Without Didacticism
The film provides valuable insight into the Basque conflict without becoming a political treatise. For viewers unfamiliar with this period, the movie offers accessible entry into complex historical events through personal stories rather than ideological exposition.
The Basque Country’s industrial towns attracted workers from across Spain during the Franco dictatorship and its aftermath. These immigrant families sought economic opportunity but faced cultural tension—they didn’t speak Euskera (the Basque language), practiced different traditions, and were sometimes viewed as colonizers by nationalist elements. The film shows this friction through small details: awkward greetings, language barriers, casual discrimination, and children caught between cultures.
ETA (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna, meaning “Basque Homeland and Liberty”) pursued Basque independence through armed struggle. By 1985, the organization had killed hundreds of people—police, military, politicians, and civilians. The film depicts this violence indirectly, as children would experience it: through news reports, adult conversations, protest chants, and occasional direct encounters. This approach communicates the pervasive atmosphere of fear without exploiting violence for dramatic effect.
The heroin epidemic devastated Spanish working-class communities during the 1980s, with particularly severe impact in industrial Basque towns. Estimates suggest the drug killed thousands of young people during this decade. The film shows this crisis through Toni’s brother Maserati, whose addiction progresses from background detail to central tragedy.
The AIDS epidemic compounded the heroin crisis, as needle sharing facilitated HIV transmission. Spain experienced some of Europe’s highest infection rates during this period, with inadequate public health response and significant social stigma. The film includes AIDS deaths without sensationalizing them, treating the disease as another dimension of the era’s general instability.
By presenting these elements through children’s limited understanding, the film allows viewers to piece together the larger context gradually. This narrative strategy proves more effective than explanatory voiceover or exposition scenes.
Strong Performances from Young and Established Actors
The casting director made the critical decision to use relatively unknown young actors for the four leads, creating authenticity that established child stars couldn’t provide. Asier Flores, Aitor Calderón, Miguel Rivera, and Hugo García deliver naturalistic performances that never feel scripted or rehearsed. They capture the specific energy of 12-year-old boys—the constant motion, rapid emotional shifts, mix of bravado and vulnerability, and the way children process serious events through play and humor.
The adult cast provides necessary weight and complexity. Luis Callejo and Marian Álvarez, as Marcos’s parents, communicate the strain of working-class life through subtle performances—the worried glances, the careful budgeting conversations, the attempts to maintain optimism while facing economic pressure. Vicente Vergara adds depth in supporting role, showing how immigrant parents balance adaptation with maintaining their identity.
Rising star Arón Piper (known from the series “Elite”) appears as Maserati, Toni’s drug-addicted brother. His performance traces a deterioration from functional addict to someone completely consumed by heroin. The scenes between Piper and Calderón, showing the younger brother watching helplessly as Maserati self-destructs, provide some of the film’s most emotionally devastating moments.
Yon González plays Felix, José Antonio’s older brother whose disillusionment leads toward ETA involvement. González conveys the specific frustration of someone who feels blocked from legitimate paths to change, making his character’s trajectory comprehensible without endorsing it.
The ensemble works cohesively, with adult struggles happening in parallel to the boys’ summer adventures. The film cuts between these worlds, showing how children absorb and reflect adult stress even when shielded from full knowledge.
A Punk Soundtrack That Defines the Era
Music functions as more than atmospheric backdrop—it becomes a character in the story. Director Gómez wrote the script while listening to period-appropriate punk and rock, and this process shaped the film’s rhythm and energy.
The soundtrack opens with The Ramones, immediately establishing the era’s rebellious energy. Spanish punk bands like Barricada appear throughout, connecting the music to specifically Basque cultural resistance. These weren’t arbitrary choices—punk culture in 1980s Basque Country represented both youth rebellion and political expression, with some bands explicitly supporting independence movements while others simply channeled general frustration.
The boys’ bedrooms display posters of period rock and punk stars, and characters discuss music preferences as markers of identity. This attention to musical culture grounds the film in specific time and place while making it accessible to viewers who recognize universal aspects of youth culture.
Certain scenes use music to heighten emotional impact without becoming manipulative. When joyful moments occur—successful pranks, romantic encounters, simple freedom—upbeat tracks emphasize the intensity of childhood happiness. When darkness intrudes, the music cuts out or shifts, creating aural emptiness that reflects loss.
The score by composer blends with the punk soundtrack rather than competing with it, providing emotional underscore during quieter moments while letting the licensed tracks dominate high-energy sequences.
Why Different Audiences Should Watch This Film
History enthusiasts will appreciate the film’s detailed recreation of a specific moment in Spanish history. The production design captures 1980s Basque Country accurately, and the story illuminates a period that international audiences often misunderstand. The film provides context for contemporary Basque politics and identity debates.
Coming-of-age film fans encounter a fresh approach to the genre. Instead of the typical American suburban experience or the romanticized European summer, this film shows how children develop resilience in genuinely difficult circumstances. The authentic performances and unsentimental storytelling offer something different from formula.
Spanish cinema followers see an impressive directorial debut from Manu Gómez. The film premiered at the San Sebastián International Film Festival and earned recognition for its craft and authenticity. It represents a wave of Spanish filmmaking that excavates complex historical periods through personal stories.
Viewers interested in immigration narratives find a nuanced portrayal of what it means to be simultaneously Spanish and outsider. The maketo experience—being Spanish citizens who face discrimination in their own country—offers perspective on internal migration and cultural belonging that resonates with broader immigration discussions.
Parents might value the film’s honest depiction of how children process difficult realities. Rather than shielding young protagonists from hardship or pretending childhood innocence remains intact regardless of circumstances, the film shows realistic emotional development and the importance of peer support.
Film students can study the cinematography, editing choices, and narrative structure. The decision to maintain child’s-eye-view perspective throughout creates specific technical challenges that Salmones and Gómez navigate skillfully. The film also demonstrates how to handle complex historical subject matter through personal narrative.
The film earned a 6.1 rating on IMDb and received five award nominations, indicating solid critical and audience reception. Available on Netflix in multiple regions, it reaches international viewers who might otherwise never encounter this specific story.
Frequently Asked Questions
Is the film suitable for younger viewers?
The film carries a 12+ rating due to themes including violence, drug use, and death. Parents should consider whether their children can handle realistic depictions of these serious subjects. The film doesn’t exploit or sensationalize, but it doesn’t shield viewers from difficult content.
Do I need to know Basque history to understand the film?
No. The film provides sufficient context through the story itself. While background knowledge enriches the experience, the human elements—friendship, family, growing up under stress—translate universally. The film works as coming-of-age drama even for viewers unfamiliar with ETA or Basque politics.
Is it in Spanish or Euskera?
Primarily Spanish, reflecting the immigrant characters’ language. Some Euskera appears in background elements and brief exchanges, which accurately represents the linguistic environment for maketo families who hadn’t learned the regional language.
How historically accurate is the portrayal?
Director Manu Gómez drew directly from his childhood memories growing up in Arrasate during this period. While individual characters are fictionalized, the social conditions, political atmosphere, and daily life details reflect documented realities of 1985 Basque Country.
Where can I watch it?
The film is available on Netflix in several regions. Availability varies by country, so check your local Netflix catalog. It has also screened at various film festivals and may be available through other streaming platforms depending on your location.
Does the film take a political stance on Basque independence?
The film doesn’t advocate for any political position. It shows how political conflict affected ordinary families without endorsing ETA violence or dismissing Basque cultural concerns. The child protagonists don’t understand the ideological debates—they simply live within the consequences.
Érase una vez en Euskadi succeeds because it doesn’t try to deliver tidy messages about resilience, hope, or the power of friendship to overcome all obstacles. Instead, it shows four boys navigating a summer where normal childhood experiences collide with extraordinary circumstances. They emerge older, shaped by loss, but still themselves—which is perhaps the most honest thing a coming-of-age film can show.
The film’s power lies in this specificity. By focusing intensely on one place, one summer, and four particular boys, Gómez creates something that feels universal. Anyone who grew up in difficult circumstances, who lost innocence earlier than expected, who maintained friendships that became lifelines, or who watched adults struggle with forces beyond their control will recognize something true in this story.
For viewers seeking authentic historical drama, compelling performances, or simply a different perspective on what coming-of-age can mean, this film delivers. It asks audiences to witness rather than to be entertained, to understand rather than to judge, and to recognize that childhood isn’t always protected from the world’s complexity—but that children find ways to remain children nonetheless, for as long as they possibly can.