Federico Borgia’s debut “Prince” is riddled with melancholy, resignation, but also a stab of hope. Behind the cover of directionless despair and the darkness of life being hurled into a tailspin, there can still be possibilities. It may not be for the immediate, but can bloom for the next in line. Amidst the bounding alienation from one’s familiar life and circumstances, the film recognises the bold strides it takes to fully throw oneself.
The horizon is vast and searching. One has to be audacious and prepared to go all the way in to fulfil their dreams. In the trying lies a sliver of promise. A latter scrap of dialogue is key to the ultimate plea of resilience. Even when everything appears doomed, one must rise and forge on, daring to commit intensely. When the film opens, Isabel (Maitina De Marco) has already floated into the depths of depression. She isn’t ready to own up to her mental churn.
She swats away the concerns of others, insisting everything is alright. Rather, she turns aggressively defensive when someone nudges her to accept her plummeting state. Isabel shuts herself off, supremely self-possessed and unshakably dignified. She’ll rather be known as someone who carried off her pain silently than seen to crumble. Isabel defies self-effacement.
Only Prince, her dog, remains her steady anchor. But he too is no longer enough to keep her tethered. She’s slipping and will soon fade out. At the mansion, she lives with her ex-lover and butler, Jaime (Roberto Suárez). The two are like an old couple living together with all the grouses, disaffections, and mundane adjustments of being used to each other’s company for years. Both have frosty relations with their families. Those aren’t anywhere in the scene. But Jaime notices her being agitated and flighty for a while, which she denies vociferously. Then, tragedy strikes. She dies. As per the will, the estate is left to the dog.
Jaime is the declared guardian. Only after the dog passes can the estate be divvied up. Suddenly, Isabela’s son intrudes into the picture. He’s frustrated and enraged. He can’t believe his mother’s audacity, though he has long relinquished contact with her. Wisely, Borgia doesn’t get caught up in what precipitated the drifting apart. But the son has been stubborn, ambitious, reckless, frequently prone to financial ruin. His daughter, Victoria, and Jaime’s son, Diego, collide eventually.
A still from “Prince” (2026)
What’s especially admirable is how the film balances a pungent tone with moving strains. Lodged deep in the film’s heart are wafting aches and threads of loneliness. Jaime is a father who has long abandoned his son. Their relationship is naturally strained. He cannot, out of the blue, just expect his son to be all cordial and loving. Neither does he force it. Jaime makes a proposition, which Diego chooses to accept.
It’s an equation that has to figure out its needs and wants along the way as the two settle into proximity. There’s hurt, resentment, ample guilt on the part of the father. Duty and responsibility have been shucked. How does one earn the love that they have long forsaken? Love is a habit. It’s nurture, and sustained presence is a gesture that is there for each other. The film’s latter portions trace this tentative father-son bond that also has to contend with Isabel’s own son and his agenda.
The film also becomes an elegy for all that is lost and gone while affirming what can still be retained and should be protected and cherished. Jaime is constantly goaded and threatened to remove himself from the scene. He’s nagged to give away the dog so it can be dealt with. But it’s the only lingering memory of the connection he had with Isabel. Her son, sunk in debt and crisis, didn’t have a loving relationship with her. Years of distance and neglect marked their dynamic. But he has no qualms about clutching for his late mother’s possessions. He feels entitled to it.
He’s aggravated and restless over his mother’s designs. Moreover, he’s desperate to foil it, bend it around to suit his advantage. For that, Jaime has to buckle and compromise. Prince mines a subtle emotional drama and conflict from Jaime’s unwillingness to sully the memory of his love by allowing himself to be so easily bought out. Will he budge? Victoria provokes Jaime to hold the thought carefully. She presses him to weigh whether he can at all afford to trust her father. Will Isabel’s son keep his word? He could very well manipulate Jaime out of the whole deal altogether, given how he grudges him.
The villa is witness to the clashing expectations within the set of people. They are all on disparate wavelengths, wrestling with what one owes the other, how each can propel the other in a way to their liking. A beam of sadness shoots through Prince. There’s a wistfulness that flowers beautifully in a scene between Isabel’s son and Diego as crucial advice is passed.
It’s that decisive push that one needs to make the plunge. Life is brutally unpredictable. One often requires a few vital words from the other who has already endured quite a bit of life, seen the curves. Underneath all the spite there’s a snatch of humanity, even if hesitant, which makes “Prince” wonderfully layered and bobbing with emotional texture.
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Prince (2026) Movie Links: IMDb