Natalia Echeverri

Natalia Echeverri’s name keeps popping up when you talk about fresh, gutsy Latin American cinema. Her work, honestly, just hits different. Take MalaYerba (2021)—that show’s not your run-of-the-mill drama. It dives deep into Colombia’s wild cannabis boom, but forget cartels and clichés. Instead, it zooms in on three young entrepreneurs, each hustling hard, juggling ambition and secrets, trying not to get lost in the weeds (pun totally intended). There’s tension, backstabbing, and this low-key commentary on privilege and survival, all wrapped up in slick visuals and punchy dialogue. Now, La Cara Oculta (2011) is a whole other beast. Think psychological thriller with a spicy twist. It starts off with a classic setup—a woman vanishes, her boyfriend’s left reeling, and suddenly everyone’s got a theory. But then the movie flips the script and drags you into a web of jealousy, obsession, and some seriously claustrophobic situations (literally, the stuff with the secret room is wild). The vibe is tense, the music gets under your skin, and you end up questioning everyone’s motives, even your own. And then there’s Llanto Maldito (2021), which cranks up the supernatural. This one’s got all the chills—rural legends, creepy forests, curses you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. Echeverri really leans into the eerie atmosphere, but it’s not just for scares. The real bite comes from the way old wounds and family secrets bubble up, haunting everyone in more ways than one. Basically, she’s got range, and her stories stick with you long after the credits roll.