A Poet is the latest from Colombian filmmaker Simón Mesa Soto, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in 2025, where it won the prestigious Jury Prize. Described as a “tragicomedy”, the film—now in theaters—recalls the uncomfortable humanism of Todd Solondz, centering on an unlikable protagonist, Oscar Restrepo (Ubeimar Rios), whom we somehow find ourselves rooting for in this deeply moving portrait of personal reckoning.
When we first meet Oscar, he’s in the throes of a full-blown midlife collapse. Once a poet, he hasn’t written or published in years. He drinks too much, his daughter resents him, and he clings to the delusion that recognition will only come after death. Hoping to help pay for his daughter’s classes, he reluctantly takes a job teaching philosophy at a high school. There he meets Yurlady, a student whose raw, intuitive talent for language rekindles something in him. The setup initially suggests he might pass her work for his own gain, but instead Oscar attempts something far more difficult: genuine change. He begins mentoring her, searching for purpose through her promise while tentatively rebuilding his fractured relationship with his daughter.
Yurlady’s family quickly attempts to capitalize on Oscar’s attention, while his literary peers view her background as a convenient tool to rebrand their insular scene. Around Oscar, everyone seems eager to turn authenticity into opportunity—an irony the film observes with quiet precision.
Mesa Soto’s greatest achievement lies in how patiently he reveals Oscar’s humanity. The humor drawn from his flaws never feels cruel; instead, it gradually deepens our understanding of a man who has spent most of his life avoiding responsibility. Rios delivers a performance of remarkable delicacy, charting Oscar’s evolution with subtle shifts in posture, tone, and vulnerability. By the time the film reaches its emotional turning point, the transformation feels earned rather than imposed.
Ultimately, A Poet lands as a devastating yet life-affirming character study about accountability, artistic longing, and the fragile possibility of redemption. The film doesn’t offer easy catharsis; instead, it lingers on the uncomfortable truth that growth often arrives late and imperfectly. Rios is extraordinary, shaping Oscar into a man both exasperating and painfully recognizable—a figure who stumbles toward grace rather than seizing it. The result is quietly shattering: a story about failure that finds unexpected dignity in persistence, and a reminder that choosing hope, however tentatively, can still be an act of courage.
