Revenge story ditches violence and political commentary for weak take of triumph-over-evil variety POINTS: 3 Pascal Laugier’s Martyrs (2008) has been rightfully regarded as one of the most extreme movies ever made, one of the best horror movies of the decade, and one of the main titles of the New French Extremism, a term coined by film critic James Quandt for a series of fiercely groundbreaking films addressing sexual debauchery, sordid violence, disturbing psychosis and taboo-breaking in terms of onscreen body image. This somewhat recently-born trend includes slashers, revenge films, home invasion films, body horror films, and torture porn films. Yet to Laugier, Martyrs differs a great deal from, let’s say, the torture porn Saw series, because his film is about pain rather than torture. “My film is very clear in what it says about human pain and human suffering. It’s about nature and the meaning of human suffering. I mean the pain we all feel on an everyday basis — in a symbolic way. The film doesn’t talk about torture — it talks about the pain,” Laugier said in an interview. In fact, at its debut in 2008 in Cannes, it polarized critics and viewers and caused widespread walkouts, just like Xavier Gen’s Frontiere(s) did, also regarded as one of the best films of the New French Extremism. Also, think of A l’interieur, by Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo, and High Tension, by Alexandre Aja as two other proud examples. Martyrs belongs to the revenge films category, and it tells the story of Lucie, a young woman who tracked down and slaughtered the people who abducted and tortured her as a child - meaning a cult of well-off perverts who subjected their prisoners to tremendous suffering to cause a Joan of Arc-like state of grace that would allow them to see what lies beyond. Taken prisoner as a child, Lucie eventually managed to escape and, 15 years later, with the help of her girlfriend, also a victim of child abuse, she returns for sweet — actually, bloody — revenge. Filmed with striking mastery of suspense, shock and surprise, and displaying hectic camerawork, furious editing, and an ominous sound design, Martyrs consistently delivers an almost unbearable degree of graphic violence of all types in a most painful vein of gritty realism. Add an unnerving subtext of social and political commentary on the wickedness of today’s dehumanized world and you’ll get the full picture. Now, given this highly inflammable material, it’s not hard to imagine that Hollywood would make a remake, sooner or later. For the sake of the original and the purpose of a good remake, something is a must: keeping the violence, carnage and gore, together with the political intentions and philosophical appreciations. And that’s exactly what Hollywood chose to discard. For the sake of mass audiences, Kevin and Michael Goetz’s recently released Martyrs (2015) is a ridiculously toned-down, poor copy of the original which dares betray its very essence. It’s also a display of faulty cinematic skills that eschews all the nasty ideological observations and exhibits very little gruesome violence. A Disney version, if you will. The premise is the same: a young woman seeks to avenge her past with the help of her childhood friend, and those who victimized and abused them will have to pay their dues. Partially because of the unpardonable changes in the plot and partially because of their contrasting viewpoints, in the end you have totally different films. While Laugier’s film is decidedly dark and nihilistic in its portrayal of a no-way-out, living hell on earth, the Goetz’s version offers a much less troubled world and it’s pretty much a story of triumph of the will against evil, with happy ending and all. Seriously. Suspense and mystery are not palpable at all and the eerie atmosphere of Laugier’s film is completely absent. Grisly violence is seldom seen and so is gore, the moral and ethic implications are trivialized and downplayed. Whereas in the original the characters’ movements were erratic and unpredictable, in the US version you can see them coming from a mile away. Moreover, the two American martyrs are far more likable to mass audiences in all regards — for one, they don’t even have lesbian tendencies, as the French ones do. And then there are the cinematic flaws. In stark contrast to the impressive, shaded French performances, the American ones are formulaic and one-dimensional, partially because the characters have been simplified and partially because the actresses just don’t hit the right notes. All the striking imagery and expressive visuals of the French version become generic, flat photographic compositions and uninspired art design in the US remake. Of course, the raw intensity of the original is absent too. So while it’s very, very hard to sit through Laugier’s Martyrs without being disturbed to the core, it’s quite easy to be downright bored with its unnecessary remake by Kevin and Michael Goetz. Production notes: Martyrs (US, 2015). Directed by Kevin Goetz, Michael Goetz. Written by Mark L. Smith. With Troian Bellisario, Bailey Noble, Caitlin Carmichael, Kate Burton, Toby Huss, Lexi DiBenedetto, Taylor John Smith. Cinematography: Sean O’Dea. Editing: Jake York. Running time: 86 minutes.
A meticulously filmed Austrian spellbinding piece of psychological horror POINTS: 9 After a somewhat long delay, the striking Austrian psychological horror Goodnight Mommy — which received the Cinematography Award at last year's BAFICI and at the European Film Awards, as well as the Grand Prize at Sitges — has finally been released. However, before discussing the movie, let’s make clear that Goodnight Mommy is being advertised as “a chilling horror masterpiece that won’t let you sleep,” which in my view is a mistake for it may raise wrong expectations. For this Austrian small gem it’s certainly not a scary shocker that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Instead, it’s a meticulously filmed, anguish-ridden slow-burner that gets more and more frightening as its many layers begin to unfold, with a great set up in the first act, a very well developed second act and a third act with quite a bit of graphic violence. Plus a final twist that in hindsight veers the story into deep human trauma. So let’s call it a spellbinding piece of psychological horror. So having said that there’s nothing supernatural in Goodnight Mommy, it’s neither a truly original work as regards its storyline. To die hard horror fans, Robert Mulligan’s remarkably creepy The Other (1972) will surely come to mind while watching Goodnight Mommy. Best known for directing To Kill a Mockingbird and Summer of ‘42, in The Other Mulligan and writer Thomas Tryon adapted Tryon’s novel of the same name, which is set in the US farm country in the 1930’s and tells the story of two twins boys — one of them good, the other one rather evil — who upon certain circumstances make their family and neighbours go through living hell — with some kills included. And while Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala, writers and directors of Goodnight Mommy, have claimed that they’ve never seen Mulligan’s often forgotten classic, the truth is that the two films have almost the same blueprint and deal very skillfully with deceiving points of view in the narrative. In fact, the original Austrian title of Goodnight Mommy is Ich Seh Ich Seh, which translates as “I see, I see”, so who sees and what is seen is of outmost importance. Now, enough said about that. Set nowadays in a posh house in the Austrian countryside, Goodnight Mommy concerns twin boys Elias and Lukas (Elias and Lukas Schwarz) who share a close-knit bond and enjoy playing together in and around the house, and swimming at a nearby lake. Nature is revealed in its full splendor, a bucolic environment that feels like heaven on earth. On a given afternoon, their mother (Susanne Wuest) returns from a hospital with her head covered in bandages and gauze — which you can also take as a nod to another great classic, Georges Franju’s Eyes Without a Face (1960). What happened to her is never revealed, but since later, it’s made clear she’s a famous hostess on Austrian quite likely obsessed with her looks, then you can gather she had the mandatory cosmetic surgery all stars undergo at one time or another. For no apparent reason, while she treats Elias with a certain degree of kindness, she totally ignores Lukas. To be honest, she exhibits an overall spiteful temper and says new rules regarding their behaviour are to be followed from then on. Sooner rather than later, you learn that she’s separated from her husband and that some kind of accident took place in a not too remote past. The icing in the cake is the fact that, perhaps because of her callous behaviour, the twins claim she’s not like their mom. And it’s not a figure of speech. They truly mean she’s not their mother at all, but some kind of impostor. So picture what these kids, who by the way are not that affectionate either, can do to a stranger that mistreats them after having invaded their home. Cinematographer Martin Gschlacht creates disturbingly atmospheric environments and settings: exteriors are uncannily idyllic, sunbathed in yellows and oranges, and yet too perfect to be real (like those in The Other), whereas interiors are cold, dark and aseptic, with grey, blue and black shades that paint asphyxiating geometric spaces. A great architect and interior designer must have created this luxurious house, but you certainly don’t want to live in there. It’s so devoid of life. Such a feeling is largely conveyed through the director’s precise control of tone in all the other regards. Actors are often sort of inert, their movements are sluggish if not rigid, as though they were in an early Haneke film. Editing is most leisured yet it never drags for being a slow burner. And an ominous score punctuates the drama, both in exteriors and interiors. Silences and pauses contribute to a general sensation of uneasiness, just like ambiguity and intrigue add up to a very particular type of suspense. But the time you are about to reach the ending, an unforeseen dose of evil doings will erupt. Not that you haven’t seen this stuff before for torture porn has come a long way now, but the realistic manner in which it’s executed makes it profoundly unsettling — once again, you may think of Haneke, i.e. Funny Games. Leaving aside the overt story of Goodnight Mommy, what may actually be more terrifying is its underlying commentary on today’s fixation with exterior beauty, with lustrous facades, with futile cosmetic surgery. And, of course, with what results from it. In this case, a mother presumably abandoned by her husband who in turn mistreats and abandons her children. An accident that leaves permanent emotional scars which adults cannot deal with. And a mommy about to pay for so much neglect. Production Notes Goodnight Mommy / Ich Seh Ich Seh (Austria, 2014) Written and directed by Veronika Franz, Severin Fiala. With Susanne Wuest, Lukas Schwarz, Elias Schwarz. Cinematography: Martin Gschlacht. Music: Olga Neuwirth. Editing: Michael Palm. Running time: 99 minutes.
POINTS: 5 Peter Bower (Adrien Brody) is a psychiatrist whose little daughter died not long ago in an accident in which he acted somewhat negligently. He and his wife are still grieving the loss and move to a different city to start over. Too bad Peter is now starting to see ghosts who try to make him remember something he’s blocked from his memory — you may guess there’s a horrible secret lurking in the past and Peter doesn’t seem to keen on confronting it. At the same time, he realizes there’s something way wrong with all his new patients: they may not even exist at all. They may be, in fact, ghosts too. So if that’s the case, what do all these different ghosts really want from him? Written and directed by Michael Petroni, Backtrack belongs to that type of film that asks you to believe certain things only to make you doubt them afterwards, and then finally to wonder once again whether you were right or wrong in your assumptions. By the time the movie is over and you know exactly what happened in the past and how that triggers the consequences of the present, it all makes sense — poetic justice included — and there are no annoying plot holes that shake the plausibility of the story. It can be a bit far-fetched, that’s true, but as long as it makes sense within the story’s own logic, then that’s not a real problem. Also on the plus side, there’s Adrien Brody’s moderately convincing performance in a role that’s pretty generic and at times underwritten. For that matter, the performances in general are just fine — including the good and old Sam Neill. And cinematography, sound and editing are professionally executed also. But sadly, Backtrack is not the film that it could’ve been. Not that it could’ve been a groundbreaking landmark in horror cinema — not at all. But had the scares, special effects and tension been a bit above average, then it would’ve been moderately enjoyable from beginning to end. Broadly speaking, you could say it’s both a supernatural thriller and a horror feature, and while the thriller part does have its assets, the truth is that the horror/supernatural part is poorly conceived and executed. So each time you run into a scare that’s not scary, ghosts that are risible, overused thumping sounds, and cheap thrills of all kinds to make you jump off your seat — and the truth is you don’t jump at all — then that’s when Backtrack wears thin, time and again. By the end you realize there was a good, even if unoriginal, story to be told, but only half of it got done. And you only got half of it done. And you are most likely to remember the eerie and chilling Don’t Look Now, by Nicholas Roeg — which won’t do any good for Backtrack or Michael Petroni. production notes Ellos vienen por ti / Backtrack (Australia, 2015) Written and directed by Michael Petroni. With Adrien Brody, Sam Neill, Robin McLeavy, Bruce Spence, Jenni Baird, Chloe Bayliss, Anna Lise Phillips, Olga Miller.Cinematography: Stefan Duscio. Editing: Martin Connor, Luke Doolan. Produced by Michael Petroni, David Evans. Running time: 91 minutes. @pablsuarez
POINTS: 3 Argentine performer Alejandro Awada is without a doubt an extremely accomplished actor. With a strong theatrical and cinematic background, he’s embodied most diverse characters, many of whom are quite memorable. And yet thanks to filmmaker Alejandro Agresti, his performance in Mecánica popular is memorable too, but for all the wrong reasons. As over the top as it gets, absurdly contrived, and entirely unengaging, it only becomes watchable from time to time, that is to say when the actor seems to be doing his own stuff by disregarding the coaching of his director. So let’s say it at once: Awada’s performance is the highlight of Agresti’s new film, which is absolutely excruciating. First, the storyline. Mario Zavadikner is an old, alcoholic editor who’s devoted a large part of his life to publishing philosophy, psychoanalysis and history, but none of that has given him the bliss and satisfaction he longed for. So now he feels both his social and intellectual reality are very disappointing and so one night he decides to shoot himself at his office in the publishing house. That is until, out of the blue, the young Silvia Beltran (Marina Glezer) appears on the scene. She’s no less than a wannabe writer with the manuscript of her first novel, which she wants Zavadikner to read and ultimately publish. If he doesn’t do so, she’ll just shoot herself in front of him. What ensues is an overlong, unbearably pretentious and conceptually vacuous monologue eventually disguised as a conversation in which Zavadikner spits out his supposedly wise opinions on life in general, intellectuals, the art and cultural world, those who inhabit it, post modernism, and whatever else he can think of. Silvia listens and, every now and then, says something. Then Zavadikner keeps on talking, talking, talking. And hence Agresti subjects viewers to a never ending discourse filled with commonplace, childish insights and adolescent anger towards everything and everyone — considering Agresti’s usual critiques, it’s not hard to realize he is the one actually speaking though the mouth of his character. Then, all the forced, nonsensical references to the military dictatorship. Oh, boy. This is the part when you are bound to think you’re watching a parody of lame films dealing with the effects and consequences of the dictatorship. Well, that’s not the case. You’re actually watching one. To be honest, I first thought Agresti was going for a personal grotesque, a farce maybe, some kind of non-naturalistic register. And yet, as the film unfolds, I realized he was trying to make a realistic film with real characters engaged in real dialogue. Well, that’s certainly not what came out of his directorial efforts. Not by a long shot. when and where Mecánica popular (Argentina, 2015) Written and directed by Alejandro Agresti. With Alejandro Awada, Patricio Contreras, Marina Glezer, Romina Richi, Diego Peretti. Produced by Sebastián Aloi. Cinematography: Marcelo Camorino. Editing: Anabela Lattanzio, Alejandro Agresti. Sound: José Luis Díaz. Running time: 90 minutes.
I believe the protagonist of my film, Dr. Arturo Serrano, rather than synthesize the work of rural doctors, in fact represents a way of thinking and practicing medicine that’s harder and harder to find. To him, his patients are persons, not a lung or a sick liver, or ‘the patient in room 515,’” says Darío Doria, director of the thoughtful documentary Salud rural (Rural Health), now showing at the Gaumont movie theatre. “Arturo knows all of them, and if a new patient arrives, he takes the necessary time to get to know them. Today’s medicine seldom works this way.” Doria adds. Salud rural takes place in Santo Domingo, a small town in the province of Santa Fe, and you could say it’s a humanistic chronicle of the work of Dr. Serrano in the rural hospital where he works. In its most basic sense, Dr. Serrano does what all doctors do: he checks up his patients’ conditions, administers medication, and gives diagnoses and prognoses. Yet what makes all the difference is how he does it: with tremendous devotion, much kindness, immense serenity, and always willing to ease their psychological pain as well; never with a condescending attitude, never in an impersonal way, and always giving them as much of his time as possible. His patients don’t tend to have any health coverage and are usually persons living on meagre incomes, which the medical system at large tends to neglect in favour of those who can afford the rising costs of medical treatments. This, of course, makes the work of Dr. Serrano — who, by the way, even makes house calls — all the more essential. Despite the difficult, sometimes even dire circumstances the patients are in, the filmmaker’s eye is far from wallowing into their suffering. But he’s doesn’t sugarcoat their reality either. Doria’s judicious camera has found the perfect balance in exposing with enough detail what viewers need to see and at the same time its keeps a certain distance in order not to be invasive. But more than the symptoms of a given illness, the camera clearly focuses on the bond established between this unusual doctor and his often collaborative patients. It inquires into the human process of healing and dealing with pain. Doria also handles the photography and the editing, and he does a great job in both regards. Shot in luminous black and white, with a fine array of shades of grey as well as both tangible textures and voluminous depth, the pristine images in Salud rural acquire a serene life as slices of life unfold. The editing is neat, smooth, and never calls attention to itself for its goal is to provide the right tempo while being imperceptible. And that’s another remarkable achievement of Salud rural: Doria knows better than to intrude, so his presence as a filmmaker is erased from the film. Better said, Doria is present in the care paid to every single aspect of the film, but his presence happens to be rightly invisible, allowing Salud rural to unfold according to Dr. Serrano’s way of understanding medicine. Production notes Salud Rural (Argentina, 2014). Produced and directed by Darío Doria. Written by Luis Camardella. Cinematography and editing: Darío Doria. With Dr. Arturo Serrano, townspeople of Santo Domingo, Las Colonias, Santa Fe. Running time: 81 minutes.
POINTS: 7 “Danzar con María is the result of a personal bond with María Fux that has lasted for more than three years now, a period in which I’ve observed her classes, studied her books, and had exhaustive conversations with her about the relationship between cinema and dance, body and video camera. And even though there are incredibly interesting episodes in her personal life, I decided not to make a biopic. Instead, I preferred to focus on the most interesting aspects of her work today,” says Italian filmmaker Ivan Gergoelet about the genesis of his discerning documentary featured in the Critics’ Week of the Venice Film Festival and now commercially released in Argentina. In the realm of dance, you could say Argentine María Fux is an everlasting star. She’s recently turned 94 years old and is a unique individual: a dancer, choreographer, and a dance therapist who has created her own method of dance therapy. She’s opened up dance schools both at home and in Europe, where she has trained physiotherapists, doctors, gymnastics teachers, and psychotherapists. At her studio on Callao Street in Buenos Aires, she receives dance students from all walks of life, including people with physical and mental disabilities such as deafness, Down Syndrome, and autism spectrum disorder. But she’s not the type of teacher who favours private lessons, she’d rather go for integrated dance groups in which everybody eventually learns to sing their own song. This is basically the stuff Danzar con María is made of. You get to see many of her rehearsals and also listen to what some of her students have to say about the great experiences they’ve had while studying with María. As Gergoelet clearly stated, the documentary is certainly not a biopic — so you won’t get to learn that much about her personal life — but a portrayal of the sensibility and sheer humanity found in each of her classes as the way she works is lucidly presented. Calm and reflexive, María’s voice-over conveys what dance has meant to her and to her family, and above all to her unique students. She stresses the fact that individuals are all different and so they shouldn’t adhere to the same way of dancing. Keeping your own singularity is essential when it comes to her dance classes. On a different note, María notices the limits imposed in her body because of her age. Nobody can pretend their bodies don’t age. But you could say that just like this unique dance teacher has consistently known how to meet the demands of her students, she is on the right track to meet the challenges of a new stage in life. That is with lots of experience and plenty of wisdom. Production notes Danzar con María (Argentina, Italy, Slovenia, 2014). Directed by Ivan Gergoelet. With Maria Fux, Martina Serban, Maria José Vexenat, Marcos Ruiz, Macarena Battist. Cinematography: Ivan Gergolet, David Rubio. Editing: Natalie Cristiani. Running time: 75 minutes.
POINTS: 5 Peter Bower (Adrien Brody) is a psychiatrist whose little daughter died not long ago in an accident in which he acted somewhat negligently. He and his wife are still grieving the loss and move to a different city to start over. Too bad Peter is now starting to see ghosts who try to make him remember something he’s blocked from his memory — you may guess there’s a horrible secret lurking in the past and Peter doesn’t seem to keen on confronting it. At the same time, he realizes there’s something way wrong with all his new patients: they may not even exist at all. They may be, in fact, ghosts too. So if that’s the case, what do all these different ghosts really want from him? Written and directed by Michael Petroni, Backtrack belongs to that type of film that asks you to believe certain things only to make you doubt them afterwards, and then finally to wonder once again whether you were right or wrong in your assumptions. By the time the movie is over and you know exactly what happened in the past and how that triggers the consequences of the present, it all makes sense — poetic justice included — and there are no annoying plot holes that shake the plausibility of the story. It can be a bit far-fetched, that’s true, but as long as it makes sense within the story’s own logic, then that’s not a real problem. Also on the plus side, there’s Adrien Brody’s moderately convincing performance in a role that’s pretty generic and at times underwritten. For that matter, the performances in general are just fine — including the good and old Sam Neill. And cinematography, sound and editing are professionally executed also. But sadly, Backtrack is not the film that it could’ve been. Not that it could’ve been a groundbreaking landmark in horror cinema — not at all. But had the scares, special effects and tension been a bit above average, then it would’ve been moderately enjoyable from beginning to end. Broadly speaking, you could say it’s both a supernatural thriller and a horror feature, and while the thriller part does have its assets, the truth is that the horror/supernatural part is poorly conceived and executed. So each time you run into a scare that’s not scary, ghosts that are risible, overused thumping sounds, and cheap thrills of all kinds to make you jump off your seat — and the truth is you don’t jump at all — then that’s when Backtrack wears thin, time and again. By the end you realize there was a good, even if unoriginal, story to be told, but only half of it got done. And you only got half of it done. And you are most likely to remember the eerie and chilling Don’t Look Now, by Nicholas Roeg — which won’t do any good for Backtrack or Michael Petroni. production notes Ellos vienen por ti / Backtrack (Australia, 2015) Written and directed by Michael Petroni. With Adrien Brody, Sam Neill, Robin McLeavy, Bruce Spence, Jenni Baird, Chloe Bayliss, Anna Lise Phillips, Olga Miller.Cinematography: Stefan Duscio. Editing: Martin Connor, Luke Doolan. Produced by Michael Petroni, David Evans. Running time: 91 minutes.
Documentary reveals little-known stories of Malvinas exiles By Pablo Suarez POINTS: 6 The Argentine documentary Exilio de Malvinas, written and directed by Federico J. Palma, tells three stories about Malvinas residents who, for different reasons, were forced to leave the islands and move to the mainland. Three stories of individuals who defied the rules and decided to stand for their principles. First comes Alexander Betts, who has long vindicated Argentina’s sovereignty over the Malvinas. Facing strong opposition from his family, friends, and neighbours, Betts nonetheless maintained his political views and was eventually asked to leave the islands. So he moved to the province of Córdoba to continue with his work. In fact, for quite a long time now, he’s been a representative for Argentina at the UN Decolonization Committee for the Malvinas. Second, there’s visual artist James Peck, whose problems began with the arrival of María, also an artist who discovered Peck’s work in one of her visits to the islands. María and James fell in love and she would eventually give birth to a son in 2002. But according to the government of the Malvinas, the child had to be born on the mainland because his mother was Argentine. So the couple left the island and settled in Buenos Aires. Third, Mike Bingham, an English biologist who moved to the Malvinas to study and protect its fauna, discovers that the penguins’ population was diminishing considerably due to lack of food. But behind this symptom were the dubious business conducted by private companies unofficially allowed to fish with no limits whatsoever. Bingham decided to struggle against the powers-that-be, but sooner rather than later he was persecuted and often threatened. So his only way out was exile. Exilio de Malvinas is not what you’d call a creative documentary in terms of film form. On the contrary: it’s quite conventional as it features interviews before the camera, archive footage, drawings, newspaper clips, photographs, and current footage of the places where the interviewees reside. And yet this is not to say it’s not worth watching. Palma’s merit lies in how clearly and accurately he draws both a general panorama and the individual stories within it. Informative and accessible, Exilio de Malvinas never loses its focus and its ideological viewpoint. It’s very critical about the many guilty parties involved in dirty business, yet it’s not belligerent or agitated. In fact, the reflexive tone accompanying the testimonies invites viewers to take a stand in favour of the issues exposed by the interviewees. However, perhaps because of its predictable dramatic structure, Exilio de Malvinas does become repetitive from time to time. Not that it had to be groundbreaking to be more engaging, but if it toyed with these conventional tools in a riskier manner, with some unforeseen twists or with a better dramatic progression, then it would have had a stronger emotional and intellectual impact. As it is, Palma’s outing is more than enjoyable and should be of great use to anyone interested in finding out little-known stories of exile from the Malvinas. That is to say, stories speaking of a bigger picture that’s far from pretty. Production notes Exilio de Malvinas (Argentina, 2015). Written, directed, and edited by Federico J. Palma. With Alejandro Betts, James Peck, Mike Bingham. Cinematography: Aylén López. Running time: 66 minutes. @pablsuarez
Borensztein’s Kóblic seeks new outlook on the last military dictatorship’s death flights POINTS: 7 Kóblic, the new film by Argentine filmmaker Sebastián Borensztein (La suerte está echada, Un cuento chino) tells a story bound to deeply touch viewers because of the ominous scenario it unfolds in. The film’s title refers to Tomás Kóblic (Ricardo Darín), a military pilot in charge of one of the many planes used in the infamous death flights that took place during the last military dictatorship. In these flights, a large number of disappeared men and women were thrown alive from military planes into the sea to an abominable death. Kóblic knows very well that his refusal to be a part of such a macabre scheme will get him into a lot of trouble and may even cost him his life. So he flees Buenos Aires to hide in a God-forgotten small town where he gets help from a longtime friend. He also meets Nancy, an attractive young woman with an aggressive ex-lover. And though Kóblic keeps his identity secret, the more time he spends in the town, the more complicated his situation gets as Velarde (Oscar Martínez), a corrupt and violent chief of police, and his friends start to find out who he really is. It’s commonplace to say that Ricardo Darín and Oscar Martínez are accomplished actors, and yet it’s true to the point that their performances make a difference in an otherwise merely correct feature. Borensztein’s new opus is very well-directed at all levels, from cinematography to editing, and from art direction to sound design. For instance, there’s an unsettling, menacing feeling throughout the story, with some dramatic high points such as the confrontations between Kóblic and Velarde. For the most part, there’s an engaging pace and the screenplay is executed with precision. The thing is, Darín’s and Martínez’s characters are the most important elements to anchor the entire drama and their compelling performances give the film a distinctive air of authenticity. From a narrative standpoint, Kóblic is both a thriller and an intimate drama. As a thriller, it works fine to a certain point, more precisely halfway into the story, when it rather drags a bit as it’s easy to see what’s coming. But in the last third of the film, the story gains momentum and suspense, and the ending is pure poetic justice. As a drama, Kóblic is unnerving, to say the least. Guilt-ridden, fearful, but also determined not to give up, Kóblic’s feelings and thoughts are often not that clear to viewers and this ambiguity is welcome. After all, we’re talking about a complex character going through a crisis of conscience amid one of the worst periods in Argentine history. On the minus side, the subplot involving a romance between Kóblic and Nancy is underwritten — as is the character of Nancy — and so it doesn’t really add much to the core of the film. Had it not been included, the film would’ve been the same. Or perhaps it would have had a tighter focus on the drama faced by Kóblic. In a way, the romance is a mere distraction. The nature and effects of the last military dictatorship have been approached many times, and now Borensztein has found quite an original approach to talk about it from the perspective of an insider who dares not follow the orders he’s been given. Not necessarily a hero, but instead an antihero struggling against all odds. Production notes: Kóblic (Argentina, Spain, 2016). Directed by Sebastián Borensztein. Written by Sebastián Borensztein, Alejandro Ocon. With Ricardo Darín, Oscar Martínez, Inma Cuesta. Cinematography: Rolo Pulpeiro. Editing: Pablo Blanco and Alejandro Carrillo Penovi. Running time: 92 minutes. @pablsuarez
La Guardería is a documentary about the Cuban house for Montoneros’s children POINTS: 6 To tell its painful, sometime ominous, yet ultimately life affirming story, the Argentine documentary La guardería, by Virginia Croato, goes to back to 1978 in Havana, Cuba, at a time where the Argentine military dictatorship was at the peak of its powers. It is then when an especially prepared day care centre was set up by the Cuban government for children aged between six months and 10 years whose parents were Montoneros militants fighting against the Argentine dictatorship in what was called the Counteroffensive. Croatto, the director, was also one of those many kids and she’s selected a group of many others to give their valuable testimonies to an audience — perhaps for the first time ever — and thus memory is kept alive. Those kids are now adults and so are the people who took care of them then, who also give their testimonies. Speaking up for the camera, their speech is calm and reflexive, never belligerent or furious. Which makes sense for La guardería is no piece of agit-prop, but instead an honest account meant to have viewers reflect upon what’s said and so allow them to draw their own conclusions. While it’s true that this documentary is quite conventional in its film as it resorts to archive footage, super 8mm footage, voice over and testimonies, it’s equally true that its heart lies somewhere else. It’s certainly not its film form what matters the most — though it would’ve been great if a more creative approach had been taken — but what makes the difference here is the way these individuals recall their past and in so doing they draw a panorama of the past of an entire generation marked by one of the most infamous times in Argentine history. On the minus side, at times the incidental music is a bit unnecessary and so comes across as too easy a way to underscore feelings and sentiments, which is compensated by the fact that the filmmaker never goes for blows below the belt in depicting such a harsh reality. So you could say that all in all La guardería is an honest, often heartwarming story of a different childhood with aching, bittersweet memories and unfulfilled dreams. Production notes: La Guardería (Argentina/Cuba, 2015). Directed by Virgina Croatto. Written by Gustavo Alonso upon an original idea by David Blaustein and Virginia Croatto. Cinematography; Marcelo Iaccarino, Ignacio Masllorens. Editing: Lucas D’Alo, Virgina Croatto. Music: Nicolás Sorín. Sound: Carlos Olmedo. Running time: 70 minutes. @pablsuarez