Salma Hayek Pinault in Angelina War Drama

A woman (Salma Hayek Pinault) walks into a plaza sparsely occupied by patrons enjoying an afternoon coffee and a magazine and lottery ticket kiosk. She approaches the booth and fingers a stack of newspapers before asking the attendant (Demián Bichir), an older man with rounded shoulders and reading glasses perched on his nose, a question. Her delivery is studied, as if a more natural cadence battles against an inherent severity. She begs the man to close up the shop and have a drink with her. Her mannered sweetness becomes more urgent with his refusal. This is a command, not a request. 

Premiering at the Toronto Film Festival, Without Blood is Angelina Jolie’s latest foray into directing. The actress, who is making waves this festival season with her performance in Pablo Larrain’s Maria, adapted this thinly plotted parable from the novella of the same name by the Italian writer Alessandro Baricco. Without Blood obliquely investigates the psychological and generational toll of war. 

Jolie treads familiar ground here: A handful of her previous directorial efforts, including In the Land of Blood and Honey, Unbroken and First They Killed My Father, set their action against the distressing backdrop of war. Whereas these other films grounded themselves with the details of real conflicts like the Bosnian War or the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia, Without Blood claims no land or era. This lack of specificity may have worked in the hands of a more risk-taking helmer, but Jolie’s approach to direction can be as stiff as the woman’s initial encounter with the kiosk attendant. Despite bursts of intelligence, especially when it comes to conveying the fractured quality of trauma narratives, Without Blood’s vagueness ends up blunting many of its lessons. 

An uneasy tension hangs in the air as the man and woman settle into a nearby restaurant. She begins to tell her story, parts of which Jolie shows early in a confidently staged scene. Her name is Nina, and when she was a young girl, three men broke into her house and executed her father (Alfredo Herrera) and brother (Alessandro D’Antuono). While her father’s screams overwhelmed the bungalow and her brother’s blood dripped onto her ankle, Nina hid silently in a burrow beneath some floorboards. 

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Her fate became lore in this unnamed country where a years-long battle brewed between two factions. Whether that conflict is regional or political is never made clear and, in Jolie’s estimation, is not relevant. Without Blood is more concerned with how all war wounds people, from its youngest victims to its oldest perpetrators. Most of the film takes place in a cafe, where Nina and the man, whose name we later learn is Tito, exchange different versions of her fate. In Nina’s telling, she is adopted by a pharmacist (Pedro Hernández), who gambles her off to a count (Luis Alberti). She ends up married at 14 and bearing the wealthy baron three sons. As Tito tells it, Nina’s union was a botched assassination turned marital arrangement: The count fell in love instead of killing her. The truth lies somewhere between Nina’s scarred memories and Tito’s vague recollections. In between these exchanges, the pair offer platitudes about the dangers (but never the details) of war. 

The conversation between Nina and Tito swings between gripping moments and duller ones that are helped along by Hayek Pinault and Bichir’s tense banter. Their chemistry is defined by mutual recognition and shared trauma. Hayek Pinault hones in on understated motions — tears welling up in the eyes, tightening the grip on her spoon or pursing her lips — to convey the depth of her character’s pain. Bichir nails the subtle shifts required from his character, whose innocence becomes less black-and-white over the film’s brisk 90-minute runtime. 

Still, Jolie’s overly cautious visual language limits the impact of the drama. Flashbacks to the pair’s past offer some dynamic moments, like bird’s-eye-view shots that suggest Tito has been watching Nina over the years, gesturing at their linked fates. There’s beauty here, too, as Jolie captures the vividness of the ochre landscape. For the most part, though, she relies on close-ups, toggling between the two diners’ faces in straightforward edits by Xavier Box and Joel Cox. 

That innocent people suffer from conflict is not a provocative stance. But it seems like the only point Without Blood can make when it’s not focused — more interestingly — on observing how trauma lives in the body and shapes the mind. Despite flashes of power, the story ultimately seems too thin to bear the weight of its themes.