A Poet: Finding the Humor (and Tragedy) in Artistic Failure

Colombian cinema has spent much of the last two decades exorcising the ghosts of violence and the drug trade, producing gritty, social-realist dramas that demand the world’s attention. But in 2026, acclaimed director Simón Mesa Soto (known for his Palme d’Or-winning short Leidi and the harrowing feature Amparo) pivots to something quieter, funnier, and perhaps more painful: the ego of a failed artist.

Released in limited theaters on January 30, 2026, A Poet (original title likely Un Poeta) is a biting dark comedy that trades the war-torn jungles for the bustling, indifferent streets of Medellín. It asks a simple, uncomfortable question: Is there anything more pathetic—and strangely human—than a writer who doesn’t write? For the sophisticated audience on fmovies.tr who enjoy character studies like Inside Llewyn Davis or The Worst Person in the World, this film offers a distinct Latin American flavor to the trope of the “tortured genius” who is actually just tortured by his own mediocrity.

The Plot: The Drunken Wanderings of Oscar

The film introduces us to Oscar (played with tragicomic brilliance by Ubeimar Rios), a man in late middle age who wears his cynicism like armor. Oscar is a “writer,” a title he clings to with desperation, even though his output is nonexistent. Unemployed, erratic, and deeply deeply unhappy, he lives with his family, who view him not as a tormented intellectual, but as a burden who drinks too much and contributes too little.

The narrative structure is loose, mirroring Oscar’s aimless life. We follow him as he drifts through the streets of Medellín. He is a flâneur of the working class, stopping at bars to pontificate to anyone who will listen about the “death of literature” and the superficiality of modern Colombian culture. He laments that the country has forgotten its poets, unaware that he himself has forgotten how to be one.

A Shot at Redemption?

Oscar’s routine of self-pity is interrupted when an opportunity arises: the chance to mentor a young student (likely played by Allison Correa or Rebeca Andrade). This mentorship offers Oscar a potential lifeline. It is a chance to pass on his “wisdom,” to feel relevant again, and perhaps to spark his own creativity.

However, this is a dark comedy, not a Hollywood inspirational drama. Oscar’s attempts at mentorship are fraught with his own insecurities. He projects his failures onto the student, oscillates between arrogance and crushing self-doubt, and risks sabotaging the one good thing he has going for him. The film builds tension not through action, but through the cringe-inducing fear that Oscar is going to ruin everything—again.

Director’s Vision: Simón Mesa Soto’s Shift to Satire

Simón Mesa Soto has established himself as a master of framing and social observation. In his previous work, Amparo, he used long takes to convey the suffocating bureaucracy faced by a mother saving her son from the army. In A Poet, he uses that same observational style for comedy.

Visual Language: The camera in A Poet is often static, capturing Oscar in the center of the frame while the world moves on without him. This visual isolation emphasizes his disconnect from reality. Soto captures Medellín not as a city of violence, but as a city of mundane noise and vibrant life that Oscar feels superior to. The cinematography highlights the contrast between Oscar’s internal monologue (grand, poetic) and his external reality (shabby, drunk, ignored).

The Tone: The film walks a tightrope. Laugh at Oscar too much, and it becomes cruel; pity him too much, and it becomes melodramatic. Soto strikes a balance where we laugh at Oscar’s pretension but ache for his loneliness. It is a critique of a specific type of Latin American masculinity—the man who believes his intellect entitles him to respect, even when he offers nothing in return.

The Cast: Authenticity in Every Frame

Soto often works with non-professional actors or fresh faces to achieve a high level of naturalism, and A Poet benefits greatly from this approach.

• Ubeimar Rios as Oscar: Rios delivers a powerhouse performance. It is difficult to play a character who is intentionally unlikeable. Oscar is rude, selfish, and often drunk. Yet, Rios imbues him with a fragile humanity. In his eyes, we see the terror of a man realizing he has wasted his life. His physicality—the slump of his shoulders, the way he holds a cigarette—tells the story of a man defeated by his own expectations.
• The Supporting Ensemble: Margarita Soto, Rebeca Andrade, and Guillermo Cardona flesh out Oscar’s world. They represent the “real world” that Oscar despises but relies upon. Their grounded performances provide the necessary foil to Oscar’s theatrics. The family dynamic is particularly biting; they love him, but they are exhausted by him, creating scenes of domestic friction that feel painfully real.

Critical Review: The Myth of the Tortured Artist

A Poet is a deconstruction of the romanticized “artist” figure. In literature and film, we are often told that suffering leads to great art. This film argues that sometimes, suffering just leads to being an unbearable person.

Medellín as a Character

One of the film’s greatest strengths is its setting. This is not the Medellín of *Narcos*. This is a city of libraries, universities, crowded buses, and corner bars. It is a city trying to find its cultural identity. Oscar represents the old guard—the traditionalist who hates change—while the city around him is evolving. The film subtly comments on class divides in Colombia, showing how the luxury of “being a poet” clashes with the economic necessity of survival.

Comedy of Embarrassment

The humor in A Poet is dry and often stems from embarrassment. Watching Oscar try to impress a young student with outdated references or get kicked out of a bar for being a nuisance is funny in a visceral, cringe-inducing way. It shares DNA with the “Sadcom” genre. It forces the audience to confront their own pretensions. How many of us judge the world while doing nothing to improve it?

Themes of Legacy

Ultimately, the film is about legacy. Oscar is terrified of being forgotten. He wants to leave a mark, a verse, a stanza. The tragedy is that he is so obsessed with the *idea* of being a writer that he never does the *work*. The film suggests that true redemption doesn’t come from fame, but from connection—something Oscar is spectacularly bad at.

A Poet is a small film with a big heart and a sharp tongue. It is a masterclass in tone from one of Colombia’s most exciting directors.

While it may be too slow or cynical for audiences expecting a traditional comedy, for those who appreciate cinema that holds a mirror up to human folly, it is essential viewing. Ubeimar Rios’s performance is one of the year’s best kept secrets. A Poet reminds us that sometimes the hardest thing to write is your own life story