TIFF25 REVIEW: Un poeta [A Poet] [2025]

Rating: NR | Runtime: 125 minutes
Release Date: August 28th, 2025 (Colombia) / January 30th, 2026 (USA)
Studio: 1-2 Special
Director(s): Simón Mesa Soto
Writer(s): Simón Mesa Soto

Do you also live in profound sadness?

Óscar (Ubeimar Ríos) wakes up every morning passed out in the street with a bottle in hand. What little he remembers from the previous night is screamed at his mother with a child’s indignation because it usually concerns needing a loan for an idiotic investment scheme. He still calls himself a poet because he published a couple promising books decades ago, but he’s just unemployed. Too proud to admit his failures and too lazy to prove the world wrong, Óscar sulks in the corner and pities himself as the most misunderstood genius alive.

Writer/director Simón Mesa Soto lays on the absurdity of this self-identity thick during the first chapter of his latest film A Poet (one he admits rushing to finish—filmed between January and February 2025 before submitting late and being accepted to Cannes and thus placing a clock on final cut—but thinks its unfinished quality enhances the subject matter and themes). One of the best moments of the whole is at a poetry reading where Óscar’s preamble runs so long that the moderator must finally interrupt him to ask what poem he’s chosen to share.

Despite his full aversion to demeaning his talent by accepting a high school teaching job, Óscar inevitably relents if for no other reason than to buy his estranged daughter’s (Alisson Correa’s Daniela) love by offering to pay her college tuition. What he couldn’t have expected, however, is that one of his philosophy students writes poetry too. And she’s good. Enough to approach his more successful contemporary Efraín (Guillermo Cardona) about helping him mentor Yurlady’s (Rebeca Andrade) impoverished youth to greatness.

The film becomes one of parallels, mirrors, and exploitation. Óscar uses Yurlady as both a surrogate for his own daughter and an artist to live vicariously through. Efraín uses her poverty to raise money for his poetry festival. Yurlady’s family uses Óscar’s kindness for charity. And you begin to wonder if Yurlady isn’t just stringing them all along to do the same with the knowledge that she’s being bribed by people a lot more well off than her. It can only end badly for everyone as a result. Eventually this using and abusing will reach a breaking point.

Soto understands this reality is perfectly suited for drama and comedy. Especially where it concerns a lifelong screw-up like Óscar finally turning things around only to find himself in an even worse nightmare than before. Because he does truly care about Yurlady and poetry. More than Efraín. More than the Danish financiers looking to bolster their karmic portfolio. And we know Yurlady truly appreciates what Óscar is doing despite not fully being on-board due to youth and disinterest. Talent doesn’t create passion. Passion doesn’t create talent.

That’s the main contrast point here. Óscar so wants to be the best in his field that he’s martyred himself into believing he’s been unfairly maligned rather than mediocre. Yurlady writes as a hobbyist outlet for her emotions, but she’s not going to turn down the chance to profit off that expression to help her family survive. Put these two together and you might actually Frankenstein a single poetic icon. Separately, however, they must find the courage to admit their truths instead. Because pretending only leads them down a very dark road of destruction.

Thankfully, it’s comically dark. Otherwise, the presumptions arising from a celebration turned inebriated farce would color everything in a much more traumatic light. Soto nicely allows that fact to still influence his characters’ actions (Yurlady’s family wanting Óscar’s head) without compromising the humorous tone he’s instilled from the start (but they call for it while eating the food he shameless stole from the gala to give them). Efraín is a blowhard opportunist, but he’s correct about one thing. Hurt people often do just hurt themselves.

A Poet is therefore a learning experience through fire for its two leads. Óscar will see his entire world crumble to recognize his limitations and Yurlady will discover weaponizing her talent may come at the cost of her own happiness. Both Ríos and Andrade fantastically portray the melancholy born from getting in their own way and share a wonderful comedic timing of action and expression to ensure their two-pronged parasitic relationship is symbiotically drawn. The world may see them as a joke and pawn, respectively. But they still see the other’s humanity.