‘Denominación de Origin’ Cooks Up Historic Chilean Box Office Run

In just four weeks, “Denominación de Origen,” the second feature from Chilean director Tomás Alzamora (“La Mentirita Blanca”), has gone from a modest regional comedy screening in a handful of theaters to a full-blown national cinematic phenomenon.

With over 40,000 admissions sold and counting, this not-quite docu-comedy has far exceeded expectations, both commercially and culturally, becoming one of the most-watched Chilean films of the year. And the small-town-set story has done so without a major marketing campaign, with a diminutive budget and with non-professional actors.

In its first week, “Denominación de Origen,” produced by Alzamora and his long-time producer Pablo Calisto at their label Equeco, drew 10,000 admissions across just 29 theaters. By the second week, it not only maintained momentum, but it grew: 15,000 new admissions and an expansion to 37 theaters. In its third week, with 49 theaters nationwide, the film held steady with another 15,000 viewers, totaling 40,000, making it the second-most watched Chilean film of 2025. The film now needs to sell fewer than 10,000 admissions to become the most-watched Chilean film at the local box office this year, which seems like a lock given that it will be playing on 69 screens across the country starting today.

“As distributors, we’re over the moon with what ‘Denominación de Origen’ is generating,” Carlos Nuñez, director of the film’s distributor Storyboard Media Distribution, tells Variety. “It’s common for a film to premiere on a few screens and then gradually decline, but in this case, it’s been the opposite. Every day, more screens and theaters are being added so that the public can see it, marking this film as something truly unique.”​

The premise of “Denominación de Origen” is deceptively simple: a group of neighbors from San Carlos start a movement to earn a designation of origin (Denominación de Origen) for their famous local sausage, the longaniza. A denominación de origen, or DO, is a legally recognized distinction that identifies a product as originating from a specific geographical location, where its quality, characteristics or reputation are due to the environment and historical factors.

The film’s protagonists undertake a long and frustrating journey as they organize gatherings and fund-raising events that grow from two or three attendees to scores of San Carlinos working to tick every box needed to justify a denominación de origen for the town’s favorite sausage. Things get more complicated when the larger nearby city of Chillán decides that it, too, will solicit a denominación de origen for its longaniza, putting the two populations head-to-head in a race for legitimacy.

What’s real and what was invented for the film are never clearly defined, but the facts surrounding its premise are all based on reality, and the authenticity of the film’s story and characters is undeniable. “Denominación de Origen” is as local and authentic as the sausages on which it’s based, inspiring Oscar-winning Chilean director Sebastián Lelio to declare it, “A stroke of genius that strikes me as tremendously Chilean.”

As his film prepares for its fourth week in Chilean cinemas and with international distributors circling, Alzamora spoke with Variety about “Denominación’s” box office success, its personal significance to him and why it has resonated so strongly with Chilean audiences.

Variety: Congratulations on the film’s success. How are you processing this response from audiences and the industry?

Tomás Alzamora: Thank you! Honestly, it’s been a beautiful surprise. We started small, just 16 screens in Chile, bad showtimes, very little support, but the public response was overwhelming. People kept coming. They brought their moms, friends, partners. Some even saw it two or three times. We hit the top 10 with almost no marketing. That kind of word-of-mouth is rare.

And now there’s international interest?

Yeah. Nothing is closed yet, but several big distributors have reached out. It’s exciting. These conversations started after the film debuted here and found early success at the box office. The festival buzz also helped; we screened at Valdivia, Iquique, San Diego and Bafici, but it was really the audience’s response that made the industry take notice.

Chile isn’t exactly known for supporting wide releases of its own films. So what was it like trying to get this film in theaters with so few resources?

It’s true. The Chilean system doesn’t offer much support for local film distribution. Storyboard Media, the distributor, won a small grant, but we’re talking crumbs compared to what Hollywood films spend here. We had no money for marketing, so it was all just word of mouth. That’s how it spread.

The film has a great sense of humor, but it also cuts deep. It’s clearly political.

While people laugh, there’s a real sadness underneath, too. This film is very much a metaphor for Chile’s failed constitutional rewrite. We tried to erase the Pinochet-era constitution and, in the end, couldn’t come together as a country. That’s what this film is about: our inability to unite over small differences. But also, resilience. The final chapter [in which the main characters have reunited for a new cause] isn’t just a plot beat; it’s a statement. Even if it’s just three of us left, we keep fighting.

The film is also explicitly Chilean in its execution and narrative.

Chile’s identity has been shaky. Our films often copy Europe or Hollywood. I wanted to make something purely Chilean. Something joyful. Something that said, “We exist.” People often ask me where I’m from, and I have to say, “Near Chillán.” This film says, “San Carlos is its own place.”

You play with form a lot: animation, music videos, documentary elements. Why?

I come from music, I’m a DJ, so I think in beats, flows. The film is a party, a rap track, a ride. And yeah, the pixelated animation is a nod to [Cristobal] León and [Joaquín] Cociña. They’re friends and huge talents. I wanted something that felt local in every frame, even in the style. We even tried to get them for the scene, but in the end, the timing didn’t work out.

So what’s real, and what’s not?

(Laughs) That’s the fun part. The longaniza factory is actually a flour mill. The history of the sausage? Half real, half invention. DJ Fuego? He’s a real DJ. The lawyer? Real lawyer. Most of the cast are non-actors playing versions of themselves. I didn’t “write” these characters, they lived them. The script was collective. 74-year-old Tío Lelo has been writing his character with his life for 74 years. That’s why I don’t use and don’t like the word “mocumentary” for this film. It’s all real, it’s a documentary, only with fiction elements added to it.

Your first film, “La Mentirita Blanca,” was also personal. But this feels like a leap forward, technically and emotionally. What changed?

I stopped chasing perfection. “La Mentirita Blanca” followed all the rules: shot lists, lights, academic structures. But it drained me. This time, I wanted joy. We shot for almost nothing, like $80,000 American. We worked fast, loose, fun. It’s cinema by instinct. I also think that me being older and more mature helped, knowing that what matters is honesty, not polish.

You and [Equeco co-founder] Pablo Calisto are building something special with Equeco. Producing, creating, supporting other filmmakers. How’s that going?

It’s been beautiful. We’re producing Bernardo Quesney’s (“History and Geography”) next film, editing an international co-production called “El Chileno,” and shooting “Hijas Únicas” with Alba Gaviraghi. We’re up to five features now. We don’t make decisions for the market. We ask: Does this project make us feel something? If yes, we’re in.

And what’s next for you, personally?

Alzamora: I just finished editing a documentary for the  Peruvian comedians Hablando Huevadas, who sold out Madison Square Garden, the first time ever in Spanish. That’ll drop soon. I’d love to make a movie about Los Ángeles Negros, the legendary band from San Carlos. Youth, music, heartbreak, 1960s bohemia, all the pieces for a great movie are there.