Thousands of people in Colombia have been “forcibly disappeared,” as the euphemistic expression goes, since conflicts began in the mid-1960s between the Colombian government and various paramilitary and guerrilla groups. This reality is well known, and has been for some time; an awareness that, over such a long period of time, can mitigate the horror of the events for some. But for the mothers of the disappeared, as portrayed in “Five Years, Four Months,” the pain never stops, it transforms. The years do not heal, they only deepen that dizzying chasm between the afflicted, who still seek answers, and those fortunate for whom the present is not a constant reminder of what has been lost.

With spare but highly effective filmmaking, directors Juan Miguel Gelacio and Esteban Hoyos García create a pervasive feeling of alienation in their portrait of Martha Baquero, a fictional character based on real stories of women who worked with the filmmakers on this project. Premiered in the Crystal Globe competition at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, this second feature confirms the duo’s impressive control over the visceral and affective powers of cinema.

At first glance, the film’s aesthetic appears purely realistic, documenting the endless processes that make up Martha’s search for the remains of her son, Fabián. He makes several long bus trips across the country, on his way to painstakingly excavate potential burial sites as part of nationwide exhumation projects, or to complete a host of paperwork. But Gelacio and García also use these scenes to evoke the sensory and emotional landscape of Martha’s life. The inclusion of these narratively calm sequences, tied together in a calm and constant rhythm, subtly emphasizes the in-between feeling that defines its existence.

Even in those moments that seem most serene, she is never really present; She is always waiting for an answer, her son, something better later. When the camera stays close to her, focusing on her experience, it also highlights her loneliness and how closed off she is from others. Meanwhile, meticulous sound design amplifies the sounds around her: the animals, the traffic, the wind. Martha is removed from the world, but always acutely aware of it, in the same way that traumatized people can be numb and perpetually on guard at the same time.

The filmmakers create a tension so intense that it often borders on the horrifying. So much so, in fact, that a handful of sequences depicting Martha’s eerie dreams of naked, nameless bodies in a dark forest not only fit perfectly into the film, but actually provide a sense of liberation. Carefully inserted at key moments in the narrative, these haunting images of shapes that come into focus in extremely slow motion are a perfect extension of the film’s overall mood of eager yet anxious anticipation.

All the elements of “Five Years, Four Months” are in harmony; its hypnotic spell remains intact at all times. Crucial to this is the largely silent performance of Jenny Nava as Martha, who appears in virtually every scene. Although her character is expressionless and, at first glance, immutable, Nava plays her with an opacity that invites curiosity. Even as he’s going through an experience unfathomable to most, his face is more blank than stern, raising questions about what he might really be feeling and why he might not show it all.

At the beginning of the film, Martha joins a dance therapy class for grieving mothers like her: there are many of them, with their own networks, caring for each other. There, Martha can express her pain and reconnect with her body. But the rest of the time, for the rest of the world, life goes on. It is heartbreaking to hear Martha put a note of joy in her voice in ordinary conversations, for the benefit of her interlocutors, when her entire demeanor only screams sadness.

In dance class, a woman reminds Martha that she is not alone. But for Martha, this community is not enough. His fixed expression is that of someone who refuses to accept that he may not get an answer; She is waiting for more. When another mother named Sandra (Carmiña Martínez, from “Aves de paso”) tells her about a place where she could find Fabián “talking to a dead man,” it is not surprising to see Martha embark on this strange journey.

As you follow the lead of this stranger, who claims to have been searching for his son for 24 years, the tension that until now has been ambient and diffuse becomes vivid and concrete. Is Martha going to be the victim of a cruel and expensive scam? But even as he appears to enter a sordid and dangerous criminal world, Martha’s journey and her connection to Sandra seem to finally bring him a sense of comfort.

What really happens at the end of this journey is up to each viewer. But the film really climaxes before that ending, in a devastatingly beautiful scene where Martha talks about her son for the first time. As Gelacio and García crop out the lush nature that surrounds the two women, the ordinary beauty that surrounds them seems to vibrate with Fabián’s youthful enthusiasm and Martha’s infinite love for him. From such overwhelming emotion to belief in benevolent ghosts is only a small step. Gelacio and García’s moving film helps us understand those who choose to make it.