Emergency Exit Review: The Style and Stasis of Miñarro’s Grand Ensemble

Lluís Miñarro’s Emergency Exit arrives carrying the sort of expectation that clings to a producer famed for backing cinematic giants. Miñarro, whose directorial work has shifted between styles, trims his aims to a compact allegory. The setup is plain: fourteen passengers, some appearing as themselves including Marisa Paredes and Naomi Kawase, others playing emblematic figures, climb aboard a retro bus. The vehicle barrels ahead with no visible destination, and the film stays almost entirely inside its moving confines.

From the opening stretch, the picture fixes on existential confinement. These riders are trapped by walls and by appetites that keep gnawing at them, sexual, spiritual, professional. Religion, guilt, and resentment hang in the air like unseen restraints. Miñarro stages this with deliberate artifice, pushing performance and blocking toward the theatrical. The mood reads as absurdist comedy and slides into magical realism, with exaggeration turning jokes sour. Narrative order frays on purpose, landing closer to a chain of sketches than to a cohesive arc.

The Passenger List: Archetypes and Icons

Miñarro assembles an imposing group for the ensemble. Spanish and international names, Emma Suárez and Albert Plá among them, bring a sense of occasion before a word is spoken.

Marisa Paredes gives the film its heaviest emotional pull in her final screen appearance. Her face alone argues for the film’s intent. A private sequence in which she studies photographs from her own celebrated career plays as an unplanned tribute, tender and quietly unsettling. She also supplies dry bite in her exchanges with her on screen husband and manager, tossing sharp lines into the swirl around her.

Elsewhere, the roster turns willfully odd. Naomi Kawase appears as a solitary anthropologist. Albert Plá plays a jaded screenwriter who drops ironic verdicts on the movie business. A sexually repressed priest sits beside Eros, a provocative, muscled presence played by Jhonattan Burjack, who sparks the group’s buried urges. The star wattage lifts the postmodern pastiche and props up scenes that feel slight. What sells the theatrical design is the cast’s readiness to inhabit heightened versions of themselves or their roles.

Chiaroscuro and Fragmentation

Miñarro’s hand favors whimsy and visible construction. The film works on a self aware, meta register, relying on stage like arrangements inside the bus. In spirit, it reaches for the subversive social cinema of the 1960s and 70s and tries to refract it through a contemporary lens.

Jimmy Gimferrer’s cinematography supplies the texture. The mise en scène is rigorously stylized, and the craft is crisp. Much of the look comes from back projected landscapes, including views of the Canary Islands, sliding past the windows. Paired with bold color contrasts, the technique turns the bus into a dream space that announces its own falseness, like an expressionist set lit for a midnight play.

That fragmentation cuts two ways. The broken structure is chosen, and it also saps momentum. Conversations are meant to stitch the anecdotes together. The dialogue hops from witty observation to outright absurdity with little intellectual weight left behind. The refusal of a strong through line breaks convention, then leaves the viewer reaching for footing.

Miñarro’s cinephilia shows up in the references he drops. Buñuel’s trapped space nightmare The Exterminating Angel hovers over the premise, and flashes of early Almodóvar color the tone. The nods arrive scattered, more a catalogue of passions than a sustained argument. Provocation drives many of these moments, and the film rarely matches the depth or daring of the works it salutes.

The Pacing of Paralysis

The central metaphor does the most work. The passengers move on a road to nowhere, stuck in the same cravings they cannot satisfy. The priest wrestling with temptation, the director frozen on a stalled project, the yearning for motherhood: each thread points to a shared modern paralysis. The bus becomes a spiritual cell.

Satirical farce is the stated register, and the gags often sit inert. Comedy needs velocity, and here it sputters. The themes call for a deeper plunge into the existential pit. Miñarro keeps skimming the surface, and that choice thins the allegory.

Time stretches in the wake of that hesitation. The ninety six minutes feel long. The bus’s relentless, purposeless motion breeds monotony, and frustration settles into boredom that the film seems to court. The ride keeps going, and the viewer feels every extra mile.

Miñarro’s wish to stage a subversive screen dream is visible in his control of the images. The outcome tips toward pseudo intellectual farce. Ambition is clear. Self conscious self indulgence blocks the ideas from taking root. The film pleases the eye with its stylized surfaces, then fades fast, like chewing gum gone bland.

Emergency Exit is a Spanish (Catalan) film directed by Lluís Miñarro. The film premiered at various international film festivals, including the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival in late 2025. Its general commercial release date in Spain is scheduled for December 19, 2025.  It is an ensemble, surrealist tragicomedy that takes place almost entirely on a bus as 14 eccentric characters journey toward an unknown destination. The film is a personal work for Miñarro, an acclaimed producer known for supporting major arthouse directors, and it is notable for being the final screen performance of the legendary Spanish actress Marisa Paredes. You would likely be able to watch it at film festivals or in Spanish theaters initially, with streaming details following later.

Credits

Title: Emergency Exit

Distributor: International Sales by Axxon Films

Running time: 96 minutes (1 hour 36 minutes)

Director: Lluís Miñarro

Writers: Lluís Miñarro, Àngels Oliva

Producers and Executive Producers: Lluís Miñarro, José Alayón

Cast: Marisa Paredes, Francesc Orella, Emma Suárez, Albert Plà, Arielle Dombasle, Myriam Mézières, Naomi Kawase, Gonzalo Cunill, Oriol Plà, Jhonattan Burjack, Aida Folch, Lu Colomina, Miquel Barberà

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Jimmy Gimferrer

Editors: Diana Toucedo

Composer: Anahit Simonian