Chilean Director Maite Alberdi Unveils a Complex Tapestry of Motherhood, Desperation, and Deception in “A Child of My Own”
In the dynamic landscape of contemporary cinema, few directors navigate the delicate balance between factual reporting and evocative storytelling with the finesse of Maite Alberdi. Following a notable, albeit somewhat uneven, foray into narrative filmmaking with 2024’s “In Her Place,” Alberdi makes a resonant return to the documentary form with “A Child of My Own.” This latest offering reaffirms her signature style: a “fuzzily defined, playfully genre-infused” approach that has previously earned her critical acclaim and an Oscar nomination for “The Mole Agent,” and a second nod for the poignant “The Eternal Memory.” With “A Child of My Own,” Alberdi once again plunges into the complexities of the human condition, challenging viewers to reconsider preconceived notions of truth, justice, and compassion through the lens of a deeply unsettling real-life event.
The film centers on the extraordinary case of a Mexican nurse, Alejandra, who was incarcerated for abducting another woman’s baby from the hospital where she worked. What might, in other hands, devolve into a sensationalist true-crime exposé, is transformed by Alberdi into a nuanced exploration of a woman pushed to desperate measures by societal pressures and personal tragedy. The director’s compassionate approach to humanizing a tale that once consumed Mexican tabloids for its sordid details is characteristic of her filmography. Alberdi has consistently demonstrated a profound capacity for empathy, delving into the lives of individuals often marginalized or misunderstood, and inviting audiences to look beyond superficial judgments to the intricate emotional landscapes beneath.
However, “A Child of My Own” introduces a compelling tension within Alberdi’s empathetic framework. The film’s structural design is ambitious and provocative, dedicating a significant portion of its runtime to a bright, highly stylized dramatization of events, meticulously crafted from Alejandra’s perspective. This initial segment casts her actions in a remarkably different light than the cold, unyielding facts might suggest, bathed in a palette of “candy-hued, bubblegum colors” that almost verge on the surreal. The aesthetic choices, spearheaded by the visual artistry of DP Sergio Armstrong and production designer Estefania Larran de la Cerda, create a dreamlike, almost fantastical, quality that serves to immerse the audience in Alejandra’s subjective reality, or perhaps, her elaborate fantasy.
This visually arresting opening act gives way to a stark shift in the film’s second half, where the documentary framing takes over. Here, the narrative becomes suffused with “manifold uncertainties and ambiguities,” as conflicting accounts and legal realities begin to cut into Alejandra’s carefully constructed version of events. It is in this pivot that Alberdi’s distinctive method truly shines, yet also where it presents its most profound challenges. While her ability to foreground her protagonist’s account with a semi-comic, almost lighthearted touch is undeniably captivating, it raises questions about the ethical implications of such a narrative strategy. The film presents the stark legal facts of the case as a kind of “twist,” deliberately limiting the audience’s immediate access to modifying perspectives. This narrative withholding, while effective in building suspense and empathy for Alejandra, leads one to ponder whether a more straightforward documentary would ultimately offer a more fulfilling and ethically balanced exploration of the case.
Alberdi’s ongoing collaboration with Netflix is a fascinating aspect of “A Child of My Own.” Following the global release of “In Her Place” on the streaming giant, this new film continues their association, and in doing so, plays with the very conventions of the Netflix true-crime format. That format, often characterized by its carefully staggered talking heads and slick reconstructions, is both invoked and subverted here. While “A Child of My Own” employs dramatizations, they are so excessively glossy, so relentlessly color-coded in vibrant, almost unreal hues, that they intentionally “tilt away from realism entirely.” This aesthetic choice is not merely stylistic; it serves a crucial narrative function, inviting viewers into what could be interpreted as the “possibly fantasist headspace” of the protagonist, Alejandra. We see her both as her middle-aged self in interviews, reflecting on the past, and as a young woman, portrayed with an appealingly wide-eyed innocence by actress Ana Celeste in the stylized re-enactments.
The film meticulously reconstructs Alejandra’s journey, starting with her early life. At just 17, she marries Arturo (played by Armando Espitia), a man described as “oafish but loving.” The film juxtaposes grainy real-life video footage of their wedding with a rose-tinted, idealized replica of their first dance to “Unchained Melody,” immediately establishing the blend of reality and subjective memory that defines the narrative. Alejandra is beamingly pregnant at the time of her marriage, embodying the societal ideal of burgeoning motherhood. However, her joy is tragically short-lived, as she experiences a miscarriage – the first of three devastating losses.
These repeated miscarriages are not merely personal tragedies; they become catalysts for an escalating sense of desperation, amplified by the immense cultural and familial pressures surrounding motherhood. In many societies, particularly in traditional contexts, a woman’s worth and identity are inextricably linked to her ability to bear children. The film subtly underscores this by portraying the “reproaches of her in-laws,” who explicitly convey their belief that a “childless wife is an invalid one.” This deeply ingrained cultural expectation, coupled with her husband’s own disappointment, creates an unbearable psychological burden on Alejandra, leading her down a perilous path. She can no longer face the perceived failure, the shame, or the crushing weight of her in-laws’ judgment.
It is against this backdrop of profound personal anguish and societal pressure that Alejandra, then working as a hospital nurse, encounters Mayra. Mayra is a young, unhappily pregnant woman with no desire to keep her baby. This chance connection in the waiting room sparks a “brainwave” in Alejandra’s mind – a desperate, audacious plan to secretly take Mayra’s child as her own, maintaining the elaborate illusion of her pregnancy until the baby’s delivery. The two women, according to Alejandra’s account, strike a deal.
The execution of this plan, as dramatized in the film’s vibrant first half, is presented with a theatrical absurdity that borders on farce. Scenes like Alejandra somehow faking her way through an ultrasound scan underscore the inherent implausibility of her scheme, leading viewers to legitimately question whether this entire narrative is, in fact, “entirely fictional.” The sheer audacity and the obvious “flaws” in her plan are played for dramatic effect, pushing the boundaries of belief and keeping the audience suspended in a state of empathetic wonder. Did she truly believe this far-fetched scheme could succeed? Or was her desperation so profound that it warped her perception of reality?
Yet, the documentary components of “A Child of My Own” anchor the story in undeniable fact. These segments confirm that Alejandra did indeed convince everyone around her of her pregnancy, maintaining the elaborate charade until the fateful day of Mayra’s delivery. It is at this critical juncture that “everything went woefully wrong,” and the carefully constructed illusion shattered. From this point onward, “conflicting narratives cut harshly into the story as played thus far,” introducing the stark realities of the legal system and alternative viewpoints.
Despite the emergence of these contradictory accounts, the real-life Alejandra, in her interviews, insists to this day on the truth of her “far-fetched testimony.” This unwavering conviction is central to Alberdi’s exploration, presenting Alejandra not as a villain, but as a “sympathetic figure.” The film’s heart unequivocally “sticks with her even as her perspective is undermined” by the factual evidence, inviting the audience to understand the emotional truth of her experience, even if the literal truth remains contested. This commitment to understanding rather than condemning is a hallmark of Alberdi’s compassionate lens.
Beyond the dramatic core of the abduction, some of the film’s most powerful and affecting footage emerges from Alejandra’s life after the incident. Having been confined to prison for 14 years, the film delves into her everyday existence behind bars, revealing the profound “sisterly relationships” she built within that unexpected community. These scenes are a testament to human resilience, demonstrating how individuals can forge bonds and find meaning even in the most restrictive and challenging environments. They add a layer of depth to Alejandra’s character, portraying her not just as a woman who made a grave error, but as someone who continued to live, adapt, and connect.
Nevertheless, the film’s narrative choices are not without their critical implications. It is difficult to shake the feeling that other, “equally compelling points of view” are deliberately given “shorter shrift” in “A Child of My Own.” Most notably, the perspective of Mayra’s real-life counterpart remains largely unexplored. This narrative decision, while serving to maintain the film’s “poignant mystery” and its unwavering “investment in Alejandra as a tragic naif,” inevitably raises questions about the completeness of the story being told. In prioritizing one perspective so completely, Alberdi asks the audience to engage with a complex ethical dilemma: how much empathy can be extended to a perpetrator without diminishing the experience of the victim? The film skillfully navigates this tightrope, but the absence of Mayra’s voice remains a conscious, and perhaps contentious, choice.
The film’s final passage, however, delivers an affecting and profoundly human resolution. The real-life Arturo, Alejandra’s husband, admits his own “sense of emotional culpability” – distinct from legal complicity – in Alejandra’s crime. He courageously retracts his younger self’s “cruel, heedless statement” that he couldn’t love an adopted child. This admission represents a significant moment of personal growth and reconciliation, acknowledging the role that his own words and the societal pressures he embodied played in Alejandra’s desperate actions. The wound at the heart of their relationship, inflicted by tragedy and misunderstanding, reaches a “roundabout sort of closure” in the film’s coda. It is a moment that speaks to the enduring complexities of human relationships, the capacity for regret, and the possibility of understanding even after profound rupture.
Ultimately, “A Child of My Own” is a masterful, if challenging, work by Maite Alberdi. It is a film that demands active engagement from its audience, inviting them to grapple with the blurred lines between truth and perception, desperation and deception, justice and compassion. As with much of Alberdi’s work, the film leaves “untold narratives beneath the surface,” prompting continued reflection and conversation long after the credits roll. It is a testament to the director’s unique vision that she can take a story that was once reduced to tabloid headlines and transform it into a deeply empathetic, visually arresting, and ethically complex cinematic experience, asking us to confront our own biases and expand our understanding of the human heart in extremis.
