One week can last a lifetime—seven days can be filled with such profoundly influential moments that they may linger, just like that, for an eternity. Time once again emerges as a deeply queered idea in Jone, Sometimes (2025, Jone, Batzuetan), the sophomore feature of Basque director Sara Fantova, with a screenplay by Fantova, Núria Dunjó, and Nuria Martín. Fantova’s down-to-earth but inviting tale of first love in Bilbao reminds us of the social duality of expectation and responsibility: how easy it is to be disappointed by expectation, even if the slightest thing is off, and how heavily responsibility sits, even when it initially feels light.
The film world-premiered at the 2025 Málaga Film Festival and most recently screened in the Zinemira section of the San Sebastián International Film Festival (18–26 September 2026), celebrating a continued run as a predominantly Basque-language work. The setting here is key as 20-year-old Jone (a magnetic Olaia Aguayo, the almost spitting image of a brunette-era Adèle Exarchopoulos) gets ready to enjoy Bilbao’s Aste Nagusia (or Semana Grande, “Great Week”), occurring annually in August. Jone, Sometimes carries the same terrific feel of Valentine Cadic’s That Summer in Paris (2025), where real-life festivities (in Cadic’s film, that’s the 2024 Paris Olympics) are caught onscreen by DoP Andren Ortoll. The energy of the crowds pumps through the screen, even while the camera is focused on a more personal experience, offering us a small refuge from the surroundings.
Fantova puts two simultaneous but very different life experiences in juxtaposition. On one hand, independence is forced onto Jone due to her 54-year-old father Aitor’s (Josean Bengoetxea) worsening Parkinson’s disease, where his grocery lists look like doctor’s scribbles, and she must care for her younger sister Marta (Elorri Arrizabalaga). On the other hand, independence is sought out by Jone in the form of an enthralling romantic encounter as she falls for 27-year-old Olga (Ainhoa Artetxe) at the festivities.
With an authentically cheeky smile, our beaming protagonist is quickly taken by one beautiful night spent with Olga: her day-after grin is practically bursting through her half-attempt at hiding her happiness. Yet daytime brings a harsh sense of reality when she returns home to work expected of her, and Aitor wishes to discuss contingencies for his two daughters after his death. There is a sense of groundedness and stability throughout Jone, Sometimes that remains, tied in part to the mundanity of Jone’s heartbreak and her own acceptance of the reality of her father’s condition. Where other films might spend time on emotional reprieves, Fantova cuts more regularly to the interactions between characters, which form the basis of our sentimental experience. While we feel the sadness Jone carries, we also know that the extent of how it’s felt also happens offscreen. Jone, Sometimes feels buoyant and very level as a result, despite its inherently rollercoaster-esque narrative.
Over a brisk 80 minutes, Jone’s joy is lived out through drunk, shaky nights filled with laughter that regularly breaches the surface, but they grow less idyllic as the week goes on. These are experiences that pass as quickly as they occur, but that doesn’t make them any less consequential. For her, this heartbreak will likely take months to get over—it will extend time. To her father, with his fading memory, this week is just a blip. The filmmaker encourages us to look from both sides by beginning the work with a set of poetic video footage of Jone’s childhood, remembered through the eyes of her father. What Jone doesn’t remember as a child was filled with the longest, most beautiful days of his own.
In one of the most emotionally penetrating film sequences of 2025, Aitor monologues about his feelings of watching his daughter grow older, as Jone walks home after being devastated in her last encounter with Olga. What consumes her will no doubt burn in the pit of her stomach, yet eventually, it will fade. What consumes Aitor will burn brighter and brighter as Jone grows older and she grows more independent and unique, an experience so exhilarating and terrifying for a parent. It feels fitting that even the film’s title points to a bit of time-based wordplay in our protagonist’s own sense of self. For better and for worse, we are prisoners to the stretch and compression of time.
*****
Watch the trailer for the film here:
