Rob Munday
Early adolescence is already a period defined by uncertainty and change, emotions that can become intensified for young transgender people navigating questions of identity and belonging. In El nombre del hijo (The Name of the Son), writer/director Martina Matzkin thrusts viewers directly into this emotional turmoil, following 13-year-old trans boy Lucho as he spends a holiday with his father and younger sister. Rather than constructing the narrative around dramatic confrontation, Matzkin focuses on the quieter tensions that emerge as each member of the family attempts to adjust to changes they don’t fully understand yet.
Speaking in an interview with Teddy Award interviewer Jan Felix, Matzkin explained that conversations with the families of trans children inspired her interest in exploring these relationships, particularly the difficulties some parents experience in adapting to new realities while still holding onto memories of the past. That emotional complexity runs throughout the film. The Name of the Son is remarkably restrained, allowing silences, gestures, and moments of hesitation to communicate more than overt dialogue ever could. The result is a film that feels deeply empathetic toward all of its characters without simplifying the emotional challenges they face.
Despite the strong central performance from Tristán Miranda in the lead role, it’s ultimately the portrayal of the father that makes the short so affecting (and relatable – for me at least, as a father myself). He may not always understand perfectly, but he is trying – to listen, to be present, and most importantly, to love his son. That quiet effort becomes the emotional centre of Matzkin’s film. At a time when discussions surrounding trans identity are so often dominated by hostility, misinformation, and political rhetoric, works like The Name of the Son feel increasingly important. Rather than responding with fear or outrage, Matzkin offers a film grounded in empathy, patience, and human connection, reminding audiences that understanding often begins not with certainty, but with a simple willingness to care – and sometimes, with the simple act of a hug.