Sorda (2025): How A Visual Medium Tells The Story Of A Deaf Woman

Sorda (2025) is a Spanish drama directed by Eva Libertad about a woman named Ángela (Miriam Garlo) who is deaf and leads her life in Spain’s countryside with her partner, Héctor (Álvaro Cervantes). She experiences the new onset of pregnancy and the following stages of early motherhood, whilst facing the frustrations and difficulties which arise within a hearing-normative world. 

Ángela’s primary form of living since her teenage years is through her field of vision, which is why communicating is more expressive, and the natural world acts as an intuitive conduit to experiencing life in her own way. She utilizes sensations such as vibrations, the tactility of water, and pottery-making as a form to move through the world. In turn, the film explores her life through awe-inspiring visual elements, a sensitivity to community and relationships, and a ground-breaking use of empathetic perspective that is especially demonstrated during the final third of the narrative. The fact Libertad is Miriam's sister appears to be a potential source behind the gentle, empathetic, and female-oriented mode of representation through which we get to know the protagonist. In turn, the film’s prioritisation of her deaf identity not only acts as a pillar disrupting stigmas surrounding the deaf condition, but also as a feminist testimony for new-age cinema - caring to favour women’s perspectives by putting their needs at the forefront of the story. 

Sorda’s opening sequence is sympathetic to Ángela’s point of view, as she travels through a vast, stretching terrain of natural springs and caves. The sound of Héctor’s bellowing voice invisibly introduces us to him, due to their dog Luka, who notices and accordingly responds; Ángela follows his change of course and visually leads us to Héctor. This tiny but loud detail is a pulsating aspect of her daily life that showcases at once the limitations of being deaf as well as the workarounds. Subsequently, the film exhibits the disadvantages of deafness: her hearing-friends’ ignorance; SSL-incompetent doctors; delays in communicating with her newborn daughter. This ongoing struggle accumulates between scenes, displaying Ángela noticing her partner and daughter, or with other children, talking verbally amongst each other. Her turmoil is demonstrated through lingering close-ups, providing space for her inner world to unfold before our eyes. Insecurity and doubt are inferred from these moments of shock, but such difficult moments are also paired with positives. For instance, Ángela’s peace is sustained when lounging outside in her yard, whilst grass is being mowed behind her, exerting a terrible screech. She is also more attentive to her surroundings, enabling her to access other people in profound ways, which may be less possible should she not be paying attention. The nature of Libertad’s message appears to be ambiguous, if there is a concrete one at all. In turn, it may well be ambivalent, as are all things in life. 

Through a stripped-down, naturalistic soundscape, Sorda steers away from adhering to conventional modes of storytelling - leaning instead toward a magnified approach of ‘Show, Don’t Tell’. A striking example takes place during an early scene, wherein Ángela and Héctor bask in each other’s presence, gazing deep into each other’s eyes whilst closely huddling together. The tender, childlike playing portrays their deep connection; the golden lighting and cozy environment set up by the wooden interior tells us this is their happy story, untainted by her hearing loss. The initiative to construct a narrative about a deaf individual subsequently lends many visual possibilities to the film medium as a way to compensate. I use ‘compensate’ because sound is something that we experience, rather than see. The same principle applies to music, your partner’s voice, or your child’s first words. During the latter third of the narrative, our hearing matches Ángela’s following a poignant break-off point, instigated by her and Héctor’s dreaded confrontation with the difficulties of living deaf. Sorda’s soundscape becomes washed over with a muffled filter, resembling that of being underwater. The significance of recurrent motifs now becomes clear, such as Ángela being frequently clad in blue colours, and features of recurring aquatic and sky imagery. Their repeated appearances parallel Ángela’s ceaseless condition. Indeed, in feeling underwater, a sense of obscurity and distance is instilled. The extreme hard of hearing exhibited later in the narrative - as opposed to before - encourages us to actively use our memory and to arrive at answers behind her previous behaviours. This may explain why Ángela gets close to Héctor’s ear; grasping his breathing and heartbeat as best as she can. This is also supported during a later scene from her hearing-perspective, when Ángela hugs her friend and immediately gets submerged in her own breathing. 

Ángela is presented to be content and, as her mother pointed out, ‘calm’ - surprisingly calm. Living her life with ease and adjusting to her deaf condition, such as their doorbell’s visual alarm, proves she is well off. As a result, Sorda forces us to confront our own preconceived biases towards the morality of hearing. On one hand, should you be a hearing viewer, you could root for her baby to be born hearing, or for Ángela to receive hearing aid. But in so doing, would it accidentally reveal an inverse ideology - that deafness is a flaw? If Ángela is not displayed as suffering, then why should her way of life be opposed? When she places noise-cancelling headphones on her daughter to resemble her hearing perspective, the morality of this decision is ambivalent as it can be seen as selfish. Yet, similar instances repeatedly occur from Héctor, when he kept hoping and checking that his daughter was born hearing, encouraging her to speak rather than to sign. Sign language is Ángela’s instinctual language, the vehicle through which she interacts in the world, just as hearing people orally express themselves. Thus, hearing and non-hearing are perspectives specific to the individual, so wishing to relate our own hearing perspective to others is ultimately driven by an emotionally-charged desire to connect and relate. Such a poignant matter can be messy and armed with lengthy discussion points, yet it is an utterly human fact of life. In turn, it is impossible to impose divisive standpoints upon making sense of the morality of hearing, which is why Sorda makes a beautiful effort to prioritize Àngela’s multifaceted life in an honest way, faithful to her dignity.

---

Edited by Lara Walsh, Co-Film & TV Editor