Where Hope Ends, They Begin Their Search

Read Time:5 Minute, 12 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Spare My Bones, Coyote!
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Genre: Documentary, Drama
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 1h 24m
Director(s): Jonah Malak
Where to Watch: shown at the Hot Docs 2025

RAVING REVIEW: There’s something quietly unsettling about watching people carry the weight of a crisis that isn’t officially theirs to fix. That’s the power at the center of SPARE MY BONES, COYOTE!—a documentary that doesn’t hammer in its point, but lets its message crawl beneath the skin. The story here unfolds not through headlines or speeches, but through the persistent, often unrecognized work of volunteers who refuse to let loss become anonymous. It’s not trying to win debates; it’s here to show what’s left behind when policy looks the other way.

The documentary follows Ely and Marisela Ortiz, two volunteers who lead Las Águilas del Desierto, a nonprofit group dedicated to locating migrants who vanish in the borderlands between the U.S. and Mexico. What began as a personal tragedy—Ely’s brother and cousin went missing crossing the desert—has grown into a mission of recovery, sometimes rescue, and often closure. The film focuses not on their origin story, but on the daily stress of their efforts: the calls they receive at any hour, the silence they navigate between tragedies, and the grit it takes to keep returning to the desert knowing how few they’ll save.

Rather than relying on direct narration or sit-down interviews, the film constructs its case through an observational style that keeps viewers close without intruding. These moments aren’t set up with dramatic cues; they happen while vegetables are chopped or birds are fed. The point isn’t just that tragedy strikes—it interrupts life without warning.

Where SPARE MY BONES, COYOTE! stumbles isn’t in its compassion but in its construction. The vérité approach, while effective at conveying raw emotion, sometimes sacrifices clarity. The film visits shelters across Latin America to show the Águilas trying to educate potential migrants on the dangers of crossing, but these moments could have been better integrated. The message is clear: it's not always accepted even when you offer help. But without a stronger narrative frame, these scenes float rather than land.

A recurring strength throughout the film is its commitment to restraint. It resists sensationalism, even in its most devastating scenes. There’s no swelling score when remains are found or heroic framing. The silence often speaks louder than any dialogue, and that choice is deliberate. The film doesn’t manufacture emotion—it observes, respects, and allows viewers to conclude. That’s rare in documentaries tackling such emotionally charged subject matter.

The film could have further contextualized the broader system at play. Its reluctance to engage directly with political critique is understandable—especially for a project focused on people, not policy—but some moments beg for more connective tissue. When volunteers respond to emergencies because official agencies are unreachable, when 911 calls from migrants go unanswered, it’s not just a gap in services—it’s a systemic failure. That tension is present, but the film leaves it largely unexplored, trusting viewers to fill in the gaps. A little more holding could have added weight to the film’s emotional impact.

Its final moments occur near the water at Friendship Park, symbolic for many reasons—family reunions, border closures, and protest. The camera lingers briefly on Ely and Marisela, catching their breath. And then, almost as if scripted by fate, a lone migrant is apprehended nearby. There is no confrontation, no dramatic chase, just the quiet routine of a system cycling through lives. The ending underscores everything the film has been building toward: an unrelenting rhythm of disappearance, search, and bureaucracy.

What makes SPARE MY BONES, COYOTE! worth seeing is how it elevates empathy into action. It refuses to romanticize the work, but it does clarify its vital importance. In showing us the realities of those who are both lost and searching, it asks what it means to bear witness. What does it cost to care? How many more calls will go unanswered before that cost is shared?

Minor structural issues could have been resolved with sharper editing or clearer transitions. Some scenes beg for more context, and a few narrative threads are trailed. Yet even in its imperfections, the film holds a steady gaze on something most people don’t want to see. And that’s what makes it linger.

At its best, SPARE MY BONES, COYOTE! serves as both tribute and confrontation. It is a tribute to the volunteers who continue to show up, even when hope is slim, and a confrontation of a system that demands their presence in the first place. It may not change the conversation outright, but it insists that we remember the names behind the numbers—and that, sometimes, is the most important place to start.

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[photo courtesy of NEMESIS FILMS PRODUCTIONS]

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