Carlos Juárez

Carlos Juárez, born in 1967 in the small Basque town of Beasain, Guipúzcoa, has carved out a wild little niche for himself in Spanish cinema. He’s not your run-of-the-mill producer or writer—this guy gravitates toward stories that mess with your head and leave you thinking long after the credits roll. Look at “El Hoyo” (The Platform), that 2019 gut punch of a film that took social allegory and dialed it up to eleven. People still debate that ending, honestly. Juárez isn’t scared to poke at uncomfortable truths, and he’s got a sharp eye for the bizarre and unsettling. Jump to “Upon Entry” (2022), and you catch him switching gears, but the intensity’s still there. He’s always circling stories about people pushed to the edge, forced to confront systems way bigger than themselves. His projects don’t really do “cozy.” There’s always a sense of pressure, something simmering under the surface. Maybe that’s the Basque influence—this quiet stubbornness, a refusal to accept stuff at face value. Now, with “The Platform 2” (2024), Juárez dives headlong back into the world that made his name. People are buzzing, and for good reason. He’s a guy who never phones it in, always chasing the next big question: how do we survive in a world that’s out to chew us up? If you’re after films that leave a mark—scratch that, films that leave a bruise—Carlos Juárez is your guy.