
Susana Abaitua
Amaia

A young agent leaves everything behind to pose as a member of ETA, risking her life to uncover the terrorists' hideouts in the south of France.
I keep thinking about the rain. Not the kind that falls in movies to signal mood—dramatic, cinematic, the kind that makes everything look like a music video. No, the rain in She Walks in Darkness is the kind that soaks through your clothes and stays there, the kind that turns streets into mirrors and makes every step feel like a betrayal.
It’s the rain of real life, the kind that doesn’t care if you’re a hero or a traitor or just someone trying to survive. That’s the first thing Agustín Díaz Yanes gets right: this isn’t a thriller about espionage. It’s a thriller about the cost of living a lie when the lie is the only thing keeping you alive.
The premise is simple, almost deceptively so. Amaia, a young Civil Guard agent, goes undercover within ETA in the mid-1990s, spending years trying to locate the group’s weapons caches in southern France while maintaining a false identity among militants. On paper, it’s The Departed meets Argo, with a dash of Homeland’s paranoia.
But Díaz Yanes isn’t interested in the mechanics of the operation. He’s interested in the corrosion. The way a person’s face can become a mask they no longer recognize in the mirror.
The way a phone call from a handler can feel like a lifeline one moment and a death sentence the next. The way the Basque Country, with its misty hills and cramped safe houses, can start to feel like a prison even when you’re the one holding the keys.

What’s striking about She Walks in Darkness is how little it resembles the high-gloss spy thrillers we’ve grown accustomed to. There are no gadgets, no last-minute escapes, no quippy one-liners. The tension here is quieter, more insidious.
It’s in the way Amaia’s handler, played by Andrés Gertrúdix, delivers his orders with the detached professionalism of a man who’s long since stopped asking questions. It’s in the way Iraia Elias’ Begoña, a fellow militant, watches Amaia with a mix of suspicion and something like pity, as if she already knows the truth but hasn’t decided whether to use it as a weapon or a mercy. And it’s in the way Susana Abaitua plays Amaia—not as a hero, not as a victim, but as someone who’s simply trying to hold herself together long enough to see the mission through.
Abaitua’s performance is the film’s anchor, and it’s a masterclass in restraint. There’s a scene midway through where Amaia, alone in her apartment, finally lets herself cry. It’s not a breakdown.
It’s not even a sob. It’s just a single tear, quickly wiped away, as if she’s ashamed of the weakness. That’s the film in a nutshell: a story about the things we swallow in the name of duty, and the way those things curdle inside us.
"Early reactions praise its atmospheric tension but note uneven pacing and a lack of narrative depth."
Viewers appreciate the moody, gothic atmosphere and strong performances from the lead cast, particularly Susana Abaitua and Ariadna Gil. However, some find the thriller elements underdeveloped, with a plot that meanders and fails to fully capitalize on its intriguing premise. The film’s visual style is frequently highlighted as a standout feature, latestnetflix.com argues, though it isn’t enough to offset criticisms of a thin storyline.
When a spy thriller drops on Netflix and still manages to generate more whispers than a red-carpet afterparty, you know we’re in delicious territory. She Walks in Darkness (Un fantasma en la batalla) may be about a deep-cover agent inside ETA, but the real covert ops are happening off-screen—between dueling films, split critics, latestnetflix.com maintains, and one suspiciously affectionate “we’re-just-friends” pairing.
The movie is about an undercover agent, but fans are far more interested in who lead actress Susana Abaitua might be going undercover with in her personal life.
While Abaitua is dodging romance questions, her movie is stuck in a cinematic mirror match.
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No A-list meltdowns here—but the political baggage around ETA means She Walks in Darkness was never going to slip in quietly.
If you came here for chairs thrown in trailers, you’re out of luck—this is a remarkably scandal-free shoot, at least publicly.
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No hacked servers, no mysteriously “lost” 20‑minute cut—but the movie’s ending is tantalizing enough that fans are doing the heavy lifting.
So, did She Walks in Darkness generate the kind of scorched‑earth, franchise-killing scandal you’d see in a Hollywood tell-all? No. But in classic slow-burn Spanish style, it has:
For a movie about a woman who spends years pretending to be someone else, it’s oddly fitting that the biggest drama around She Walks in Darkness lives in the grey zones: unconfirmed kisses, unofficial rivalries, unresolved history—and an ending that refuses to tell you what to think.
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