If two characters are on a stage, with one sitting quietly in a chair and the other pacing around spouting dialogue, the one sitting down has more power, because he or she is expending less energy. It's this basic dramatic principle that forges the soulful dynamic between a mother and her estranged daughter in Solas ("Alone"), a moving Spanish melodrama that benefits from simplicity and understatement. Sustaining a quiet, melancholic tone throughout, director Benito Zambrano justifies the apt title by presenting a modern cityscape in which people are pointedly disconnected from each other, incapable of bridging the gap. The story opens with María Galiana, an elderly woman from the country, sitting at her brutish husband's (Paco De Osca) bedside in a Sevilla hospital, where he's recovering from surgery. She has long since weathered his abuses, but they've made their mark on daughter Ana Fernández, a bitter and cantankerous young woman who fends for herself in a dank apartment, working nights on a janitorial crew. With nowhere else to go, Galiana stays with the resentful Fernández in a decrepit building on the wrong side of town, patiently fielding her drunken rants while befriending a lonely old man (Carlos Álvarez-Novoa) who lives in the apartment downstairs. Solas contrasts the values of city and country a little too boldly, but there's not a false note in Galiana's towering performance, a marvel of controlled, quietly insistent emotion. Her scenes with Fernández evolve with a steady, credible progression, as she continues to greet her often ugly behavior with muted compassion and unconditional love. Somber yet deeply touching, Solas mourns the dissolution of family and community, but expresses optimism in the capacity of people to reconnect with each other. Embodied by Galiana's determined presence, its generosity is admirable and hard-won.