Not just another woman in search of a dream “I’m already a woman. I want to have surgery to reward myself, to be prettier. It’s a biological disorder, a genital issue. That’s the contradiction I see. So I would reinvent myself completely,” says 30-year-old Yermén, a Chilean transsexual who’s signed up for a TV contest in which the main prize is a plastic surgery of choice. She also says she’d stop being a Tarot reader and move out of her neighbourhood in the outskirts of Santiago so that people won’t say “that’s the faggot who got himself a pussy.” Often, Yermén’s identity bothers the people she meets. There are always noisy, judgmental neighbours who won’t mingle with her and others who have fun mocking her. But she’s got her friends as well, a small circle of women whom she trusts and with whom she shares her every day. Like Yermén, they also think a sex-change operation is a great idea. If she had the means to afford it, she would’ve done years ago. But she barely makes ends meet, so her only hope is to be selected at the TV contest — the place where she meets a friendly young black woman who also wants to have surgery, but to look like model Naomi Campbell and be famous as well. People who want to become somebody else. And yet be themselves. Nicolás Videla’s and Camila Donoso’s feature Naomi Campbel — no es fácil convertirse en otra persona / Naomi Campbel: It’s Not Easy To Become a Different Person is, first and foremost, a sensitive and touching examination of the singularities of a unique woman with a very personal — and urgent — dream, but also of the many similarities she shares with ordinary women. It’s not really about the objective traits that make you different, but instead about how you live your life in all its subjectivity when you are different and alike at once. The point is that for Paula “Yermén” Dinamarca it seems there’s so much more she could enjoy if she had her surgery. That’s why her life now is always permeated with a certain sense of loss. In a different sense, but like everybody else’s. By the way, this notable Chilean opus is neither a documentary nor a fiction film. Yermén does, of course, exist and she does long for a sex change operation. But a scripted story was written for the film — for instance, the TV contest and her job are fictional. All the actors are non-professional actors who play themselves and express their daily realities. But many scenes are downright staged, and then combined with rich amateur video footage shot by Yermén herself. Not that you are going to be able to distinguish what’s “real” and what’s “fiction” — and it doesn’t really matter if you don’t. What matters are the stories. Just like Yermén defies conventional and strict gender notions, so does the film. Both of them in a very compelling manner. With a subtly fascinating cinematography and a great use of context and locations, Naomi Campbel is absorbing, profound, and authentic. Quite an uncommon combination.
The storyline of Theodore Melfi’s debut feature Saint Vincent is far from original, and deliberately so. Vincent (Bill Murray) is a grumpy old man, a cynical war veteran who’s into drinking, gambling, and whoring. His new neighbour, Maggie (Melissa McCarthy), has just divorced her cheating husband, has a new job that barely allows her to make ends meet, and knows nobody who can take care of her son Oliver (Jaden Lieberher) after school. So she hires Vincent to baby-sit him, even if the irritable, surly man doesn’t seem to be the most appropriate person to be around a young boy. But bear in mind this is a safe, feel-good movie so halfway through the story Vincent and Oliver become kind of friends, even if begrudgingly on the old man’s part. There’s also Daka (Naomi Watts), a pregnant stripper and prostitute who satisfies Vincent’s occasional sexual sparks. Later on, she will take care of him when his health fails him. And there are also some surprises around the block, but only a few: this is the kind of movie that ends tied up neatly with a bow . So what’s to praise about this story of a cranky old man who finds love and redemption thanks to a kid’s love? Unquestionably, the performances. Of course you know Bill Murray is a monumental actor, so it shouldn’t comes as a surprise how gracefully he fills in the shoes of Vincent. Yet he outdoes himself with unexpected nuances, some striking moments, and more than a handful of perfect gags. Melissa McCarthy is delicately persuasive and occasionally extraordinary in a modest sort of way, whereas Naomi Watts does a great job to flesh up her somewhat underwritten character. As for Jaden Lieberher, he won’t disappoint you as the slightly smartass, independent kid in need of a father and a mentor — and with much love for his mother. Also, during the first two thirds there’s enough sarcasm and wit in the dialogue and many of the gags, to make you think that Saint Vincent may not be such a feel-good movie after all. Some incisive remarks and observations speak of a darker underlying scenario that may actually mimic the real America, with its real problems and petty stories. But throughout the last third of the film, the moderate pessimism and gloom gives way to hope and bliss, to care and forgiveness, and to the acknowledgment of sainthood in an otherwise very unholy old man. It’s time to celebrate life for good. Hadn’t it delved into sentimentalism and sugarcoating, Saint Vincent could have been a slightly different film singing a different song, from beginning to end.
In Argentine filmmaker Marcos Martínez’s Sordo (Deaf), a theatre troupe made up of real-life deaf thespians called Extranjero (Foreigner) is preparing a groundbreaking play called Sordo, just like the film. It is an unusual play entirely performed in sign language with no interpreter for the audience. This way, these persons can vindicate their own way of communicating among themselves, but also with those who are not deaf. Equally important is that they hope that by writing, directing, performing and showing their play, the exposure to a general audience may give them further possibilities to become professional actors within an independent or commercial circuit, as opposed to performing in plays meant as therapeutic activities at special institutions for deaf people only. Above all, these performers insist they be called “deaf” instead of “hearing-impared,” which they believe is nothing but a politically correct euphemism. To make themselves clear, they rejected a festival prize because it cited them as “a life example,” and not because they are good actors. To them, it’s a prize given out of pity. And they are right. Given this scenario, you are likely to think that Sordo, the film, is a regular documentary. After all, it closely follows these actors in their rehearsals and improvisations in a very realistic manner, it candidly accounts for their everyday routine with friends and next of kin, and it smartly chronicles the many aspects of their whole creative process. So let’s say that Sordo, the film, is a documentary. But that’s not quite true for this theatre’s acting troupe didn’t exist prior to the film and it doesn’t exist as such. Also, the play they are preparing is actually not to be performed, and the many vicissitudes they face are scripted by the filmmaker. This stuff is pure fiction. On the other hand, the snippets of quotidian life are authentic for the most part, their names and family ties are as seen in the film, and their life stories are also true. No script whatsoever. Not that you can tell the difference between reality and fiction, because the entire movie is filmed in the same cinematic style, with the same overall tone, same cinematography and same editing technique. What really matters here is not to delimit the frontiers between both formats, but to blur the thin line between them. So Sordo, the fictional play, is an excuse to make Sordo, the movie, which comes across as an insider’s, insightful, and never condescending up and close look at the intimate universe of deaf people in all its complexity and nuances. Ideologically defiant and rightly non-conformist, Martínez’s opus does not have a didactic purpose. That would have been too easy and rather patronizing. Instead, it’s about observing and relating to what happens in the lives of these real life actors. Actors who happen to be deaf, and not deaf people turned actors. It may sound similar, but it’s indeed quite different. Of course, quite a few issues regarding discrimination are addressed, but not in the foreground. But you do get to see what being deaf means in many aspects (including sentimental liaisons), in a very imaginative fashion, allowing far more sensitive observations than a conventional feature. PRODUCTION NOTES Sordo. Argentina, 2014. Written and directed by Marcos Martínez. With Nelson Floridia, Florencia Franco, Iris Huerga, Lisandro Rodríguez, Damián Scigliano, Marisa Di Chiazza. Cinematography: Javier Guevara. Editing: Marcos Izaguirre. Sound: Gino Gelsi, Jorge Gentile. Produced by María Vacas, Marcos Martínez. Distributed by: 966 Films. Running time: 89 minutes. Limited release: Gaumont and Malba movie theatres.
“It is a dramatic comedy about a group of longtime friends, it's not the usual boy meets girl stuff, and what is at stake is whether they will keep on being friends or not,” states Argentine filmmaker Juan Taratuto (Un novio para mi mujer, La reconstrucción), about his new film Papeles en el viento, based on the novel of the same name by Eduardo Sacheri, who also co-wrote the film with Taratuto. Sacheri is the author of the novel La pregunta de sus ojos, adapted into the 2010 Academy Award-winning The Secret in Their Eyes. In Papeles en el viento, this group of four forty-something friends and soccer fans have to face the death of one of them, el Mono (Diego Torres), because of cancer. Prior to his demise, El mono had invested U$300,000 to buy a young soccer player who showed great promise, but ultimately turned out to be a dissapointment. Now the remaining friends, Fernando (Diego Peretti), Mauricio (Pablo Echárri) and El Ruso (Pablo Rago) need to recoup the investment to provide El Mono's young daughter with the money to make sure she will grow up with no monetary problems. But considering how harsh and foul the bussiness of soccer can be, their enterprise is bound to face endless difficulties. Let alone the arguments among themselves resulting from trying to agree on what strategies to employ. So will they remain friends and accomplish their goal or will they grow apart? What would the best road to take? These are some of the questions posed as the film unfolds. Unfortunately, Papeles en el viento tends to lack the neccesary dramatic progression to provide a gripping scenario. There’s two main reasons for this: most of the conflict is repetitively conveyed via explanatory dialogue that leaves little room for anything else (at times you could close your eyes and still miss nothing), and the overall mise en scène is not cinematic — it often resembles a conventional TV movie. So no wonder after a while the film becomes static and somewhat dull. On the plus side, the four actors give engaging, well-tuned performances and convey the feeling that they are longtime friends at ease. They manage to make the most out of the few actions and reactions the script offers them, and even add some flair to many good dialogue lines. The supporting actors do quite a decent job as well. You could say that if the film holds some interest until the end it’s because the actors flesh out their characters even more aptly than the somewhat underwritten script. The sentimental tone in the film may seem too easy to like, but this is a deliberate choice on the part of the filmmaker, and it does work out as intended. Yes, it's not the best possible choice for a film that needed a more profound gaze, but you can’t blame the director for getting it right in his own terms. All in all, Papeles en el viento is watchable, and this is also an achievement, even if a minor one. Production notes Papeles en el viento (Argentina, 2014). Directed by Juan Taratuto. Written by: Juan Taratuto and Eduardo Sacheri, based on the latter’s novel. With Diego Peretti, Pablo Echarri, Pablo Rago, Diego Torres, Cecilia Dopazo, Paola Barrientos, Cacho Buenaventura, Daniel Rabinovich. Distributed by: Disney.
Like Father, Like Son, the new film by Japanese director Hirokazu Kore-eda (After Life, Nobody Knows, I Wish), the winner of the Jury Prize at Cannes, is first and foremost a sensitive family drama about, precisely, the meaning of the word family. More exactly, about what a son’s identity implies for a father. And about how, for a mother, the same thing does not necessarily entail the same concerns. Like Father, Like Son is a thoughtful character study that poses complex queries regarding family ties, blood lines, and ethics. And, of course, love. Ryota Nonomiya (Masaharu Fukuyama) is a thriving middle-upper class businessman who has worked hard to earn what he owns; he’s the kind of man who feels nothing is impossible. His wife Midori (Machiko Ono) is a housewife pretty much devoted to raising their 6-year-old son Keita (Keita Ninomiya), who’s about to enter elementary school. Whereas Ryota is too critical of basically everything and finds Keita not to be as smart and resourceful as he’d want him to be, Midori is far more relaxed and accepts their son right the way he is. Perhaps it’s just that she is the type of person who’s very much in touch with her emotions, whereas Ryota is more of a cerebral type who keeps his feelings at a safe distance. Nevertheless, these two very different parents do really love Keita in their own different ways. Which explains why their family life is almost shattered to pieces when they receive an unexpected phone call from the hospital where their son was born. It so happens that Keita is not their biological son: the hospital switched him for another baby by mistake. So Ryusei (Shogen Hwang), their “real son,” has been inadvertently raised by a middle-lower class couple, shopkeeper Yudai Saiki (Riri Furanki) and his wife Yukari (Yoko Maki), as their own. Without actually truly explaining the situation to the kids, the two families start a trial system of exchanging them on weekends. After some six months, they are to choose between “nature” and “nurture.” The thing is that at first Ryota attempts to buy off the Saikis so that he gets custody of both Keita and Ryusei, but when the plan doesn’t go through, Ryota follows his father’s advice: bloodline counts more. What strikes you first the most is how Hirokazu Kore-eda smoothly and accurately draws an observational character study focused on the father, allowing you to get into the drama without ever being told what to feel, think or conclude. The filmmaker’s strategy is simple and mesmerizing at once: to provide intimate details about everyday dynamics, as opposed to big meanings or extensive and explanatory dialogue, as to draw a slowly changing portrayal of what the characters feel, think, and say. Since Ryota is at odds with life-changing decisions, and deep down is unsure about what road to take, viewers are prompted to share the same uncertainty and uneasiness. In contrast, Midori seems to deal with the entire matter in a far more down-to-earth and emotional approach: to her, “nurture” may certainly be everything, which doesn’t mean at all she doesn’t care for her biological son. But the thought of actually “abandoning” Keita is too harsh to even consider the possibility of exchanging the kids for good. Yet it’s not only what she feels what counts. This is, after all, a family matter. So as you share some information on how these people are, and perhaps even why they are who they are, an ongoing sense of discovery and revelation is firmly established throughout the many layers of the narrative. While far from melodrama fare, Like Father, Like Son is not an icy and aloof film either. In fact, it’s gentle and filled with sentiment, but not in a volatile manner — which makes sense, since a good deal of the story is told from the point of view of Ryota, who’s also the film’s most complex and elusive character. With the already typically refined yet austere cinematography Hirokazu Kore-eda is rightfully celebrated for — which enhances the presence and importance of the characters in relationship to their surroundings — Like Father, Like Son is also an enthralling aesthetic experience firmly rooted in the heart of the drama, rather than in the beauty of images per se. Also never a talkative film, but one where silences are eloquent and few words are often more than enough to express what’s underlying what you can see at first glance. Production notes Like Father, Like Son (Japan, 2013). Written, directed and edited by Hirokazu Kore-eda. With Masaharu Fukuyama, Machiko Ono, Lily Franky, Yoko Maki, Keita Ninomiya, Hwang Sho-gen. Cinematography by Mikiya Takimoto. Running time: 121 minutes.
First and foremost, Ouija is yet another dull, impersonal creation by producer Michael Bay, who has managed to consistently make a long series of money-making blockbusters with no distinctive traits whatsoever. His first grandiose features, Armageddon and Pearl Harbor, as well as more recent ones like the Transformer series, The Purge, and Ninja Turtles, are safe and sound Hollywood products that are all about the spectacle and the fireworks — and nothing else. They bring nothing new to the scenario and are targeted to a very undemanding teen audience. However, as regards the horror features he’s produced, two exceptions stand out from the crowd: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (the first remake), and its prequel, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning. Granted, they are also about the spectacle of chopping, dicing, mutilating and dismembering bodies, but in these cases said spectacle makes sense in the horror. And there’s more than just that. There’s considerable tension, a certain degree of suspense, some decent performances, a good understanding of the mechanics of the slasher subgenre, and a more than impressive use of gore. In short: you get the good scares you’re entitled to in a scary movie. Which is not the case in The Unborn, and the remakes of Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street, which he also produced. So it’s no surprise that his new product, Ouija, written and directed by Stiles White, is a disappointment for many reasons. But first, the storyline: when a young and cute teenage commits suicide, her friends are devastated and yet feel there’s something weird about her taking her own life. The fact she had been using the Ouija board almost non-stop is another odd element. So when her best friend gathers some friends to get in touch with her via Ouija board, nobody is really that surprised. What’s surprising (is it really?), and quite disturbing, is that they don’t actually contact the dead girl’s spirit, but another spirit of malevolent temper. Now it’s time for the dying game to begin. Each and every single narrative device used in Ouija has been used countless times before. But had they all been executed with enough nervousness and intrigue, the result would have been more than passable. Since the execution is often lame — doors unsurprisingly open all of a sudden, faces and silhouettes come out of the blue, secrets in the attic are unveiled when they are no longer secrets, blasts of music and sounds that are only deafening and never frightening — then the end result is equally lame. On top of that, there’s not a hint of humour, or parody, or tongue in cheek. The filmmakers really want you to take Ouija seriously from beginning to end. That’s kind of impossible. The worst part is that this time Michael Bay has produced a horror film with no horror. Ouija has almost no gore at all, it’s talky and tedious, it offers no cinematic spectacle of any kind, and it lacks emotional impact. At times, you even feel as if you were watching not a PG-13 movie, but a censored one. So you could say this new outing brings the worst of Hollywood mainstream: impersonal formula targeted at a teen audience, without the spectacle, the flesh and the blood. Production notes Ouija (US, 2014). Directed by Stiles White. Written by Stiles Whites, Juliet Snowden. With Olivia Cooke, Daren Kagasoff, Ana Coto. Cinematography: David Emmerichs. Editing: Ken Blackwell. Produced by Michael Bay. Running time: 89 minutes.
Imagine the state of mind of a fraught family man who loses his low-wage day job and receives a threat-of-eviction-notice on the same day. He’s also an unsuccessful wanna-be- writer, so he knows what it feels like to dream and never get what you want. In E.L. Katz’s Cheap Thrills, this man, in order to postpone confrontation with his wife, kills time at a bar, where he fortuitously runs into an old friend. When they start catching up with their lives, a charming and well-off stranger and his young and gorgeous wife invite them to some drinks. It’s the woman’s birthday and they want to have fun. Thing is, their idea of fun is that the two friends take up a series of dares, harmless ones at first, yet more and more dangerous and violent as the evening unfolds. Therefore, each new challenge comes with a bigger reward. And while the stressed out family man is the one in dire need for money, his friend is not doing very well either. At any rate, they are both willing to play ball. If they only knew how far (and low) the couple’s sick sense of humour will make them go... Pat Healy plays Craig, the family man; Ethan Embry is Vince, his friend; David Koechner is Colin, the filthy rich dude; and Sarah Paxton plays Violette, his wife. They are arguably the main reason to see a film that doesn’t really fulfill its premise and yet it’s not a complete mess either. Their performances are persuasive, bringing about unexpected nuances and steering the story forward with more ease than the script itself. If the story told in Cheap Thrills is to reach a real climax, the suspense and emotions of each new dare should escalate nonstop. The problem is they don’t. During the first three or four times tension is sustained, but halfway through the film the narrative begins to wear thin. You already know it’s just a matter of outdoing the previous challenge. If no surprises are thrown into, the game is bound to become repetitive. And while considering that the two friends need the money, some dares are so dreadful that they should call for more transcendent motivation. But these characters don’t have other motivations. So at times they seem to be moderately psychotic, which they are not. Then there’s the tone, which oscillates from black comedy to satire, from horror to drama, back and forth. Mostly thanks to the actors’ expertise, the fluctuation is often well tuned, but when it’s not you can’t help feeling that the scene belongs to a different movie. On the plus side, the fact that the friends play the game out of their free will rather than be forced to do so makes it all the more unusual. Forget the run-of-the-mill conflict between victims and victimizers. There are no bad guys here, only a sadistic couple that happens to be loaded, sordid, and yet friendly, in their own way. In any case, the two friends are victims of themselves. As expected, as the dares get gorier, Cheap Thrills turns into an accomplished take at the subgenre accurately labelled “torture porn.” It’s entertainment, but it’s good entertainment for horror fans. PRODUCTION NOTES Cheap Thrills (US, 2013) Directed by E.L. Katz. Written by Trent Haaga, David Chirchirillo. With Pat Healy, Sara Paxton, Ethan Embry, David Koechner, Amanda Fuller, Laura Covelli. Cinematography: Andrew Wheeler, Sebastian Winterø. Editing: Brody Gusar. Music: Mads Heldtberg. Produced by Snowfort Pictures / New Artists Alliance. Running time: 88 minutes.
It’s New Year’s Eve in Uruguay. Three men, alone and somewhat laconic, embark separately on a journey to a small town in the countryside. César (Marcelo Keoroglian) is divorced and is going to visit his ex-wife’s new family. But what he really wants is to share some quality time — however short — with his kid daughter. For he misses her a lot. Then there’s Antonio (Roberto Suárez), a magician, but not the high-class kind you’d expect to find. Instead, he’s a modest artist who does have his own show, but he performs alongside other unknown artists in minor venues. His car happened to break down on the road, so until the tow truck comes he has to wait by the poll booth, where he meets Laura (Elisa Gagliano), the young and apparently aloof woman who works there. And finally there’s Miguel (Daniel Melingo), a guitar player and singer who’s rehearsing his comeback act to take place at the same venue where Antonio has to perform. He’s the most taciturn of the three and seems to hide some grief behind his poker face. Perhaps it’s only that he doesn’t feel that confident about returning to the stage. This remains to be seen. One more thing: there’s an unforeseen power outage an hour or so before midnight. So it’s also a moonless night for these three lonesome souls. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. Even a small world can be surprising. But that too remains to be seen. Una noche sin luna, written and directed by Uruguayan filmmaker Germán Tejeira is the type of rare film that smoothly manages to achieve several things at once: it’s genuinely moving and a bit poignant without being corny or cheaply sentimental, it’s most simple in the best possible manner (a very hard thing to get right) and never falls into facile simplicity (often the case in films with minimalist stories), it’s respectful of its characters and yet sometimes it tenderly laughs at them, and it fully conveys the alluring melancholy and deadpan sense of humour typical of so many Uruguayans. But above all, it looks and sounds authentic from beginning to end , because Tejeira nearly masters this type of seemingly uneventful narrative. Let alone his use of the absurd to build up circumstances and happenings that might look odd at first sight, and yet up and close they end up being everyday stuff, albeit inconspicuous. Tejeira also has a firm hand coaching actors, who blend at ease into the overall meditative tone. And while there are parts that belong to the comedy genre and others to real life drama, Una noche sin luna is not at all your average dramatic comedy. Because it doesn’t want to be so. Because it finds a path of its own as it’s more concerned with following each individual story in its own logic regardless of genre conventions. Not that it’s a groundbreaking auteur film, for it is not. Once again: because it doesn’t want to be one. Instead, imagine you get to spend some time, a slice of life if you will, with each of these characters that have no other real wishes than to connect with one specific Other, even if this Other is oneself, as is the case with Miguel (by the way, Melingo is also a musician in real life), gives a touching performance toward the end). Every now and then, life gives you a second chance or perhaps a much welcome break from your tiring routine. What Una noche sin luna does almost perfectly is capturing the beauty of these unanticipated moments that may leave way too son, and yet always leave indelible memories. PRODUCTION NOTES Una noche sin luna (Argentina/Uruguay, 2014) Written and directed by Germán Tejeira.With Marcel Keoroglián, Daniel Melingo, Roberto Suárez, Elisa Galiano. Music: Daniel Melingo. Produced by Raindogs / El Calefón Cine. Running time: 80 minutes.
When Nick, a blonde Canadian surfer, meets María (Claudia Traisac), the girl soon to become the love of his (young) life, a story with heavy family connotation begins to unfold. For María’s uncle is no less than Pablo Escobar (Benicio del Toro), Colombian drug kingpin of all times. Out of the blue, Nick had happened to land in one of Colombia’s many gorgeous beaches with his brother Dylan (Brady Corbet) and his wife. Such a beautiful location near Medellín comes accross as sheer paradise for them. So in no time they decide to run a humble surf bussiness there. Sun, surf, and love, all together in one. But, when uncle Pablo helps out Nick with the trouble he and his brother are having with some local thugs, things begin to get muddy. For Escobar always wants to have something in return for his favours. That is to say that if he has killed a few hoodlums for Nick (even when Nick never asked him to do so), then eventually the surfer will have to kill a few men for him too. The thing is that Nick isn’t a killer. He’s just a gullible guy who has now lost the paradise he thought he’d found. Narrated from Nick’s point of view, Andrea Di Stefano’s Escobar: Paradise Lost is first and foremost a pointless feature. You’d think the protagonist would be Pablo Escobar and that the narrative would cover several aspects of his private and public life. That there would be an exploration of his many facets, some insights into the contradictions of his persona, or perhaps even some little known facts about him. But none of that is found here. And for two main reasons: 1) the protagonist is Nick, the naive blonde surfer, 2) instead of a portrayal of Escobar you get a one dimensional caricature. Why is Nick the leading man? I guess the idea is that in this way you’d get a more intimate, a behind the scenes account of the man in question. A drama with a personal take, if you will. Nick would be a character for viewers to identify with in his discovery of the mess he’s got into, meaning the ruthless world of Colombian drug dealers. Nick would be the nice guy viewers would care for as the story grows darker and darker. Not a very remarkable idea to begin with, considering it would put Escobar in second place, but had it been well executed it might have partly paid off. But just like Escobar, Nick is such an underwritten character that it’s impossible to take him seriously — let alone care for him. For that matter, all characters are mere cardboard figures. They literally have no personal traits whatsoever, they only perform the actions told on the script. And they do so in a very mechanic manner. So where is the pathos supposed to be found? Moreover, from the second half until the end, Escobar: Paradise Lost intends to become a suspense-filled story with some violent outbursts, but it also fails because of its very predictable and formulaic development. And as regards the many social, political and ideological angles a potential story of this kind has, you’d better forget all about them for they are never truly explored. That would be asking too much from a film that doesn’t even meet the basic expectations. Production notes Escobar, Paradise Lost (France/ Spain/Belgium, 2014) Written and directed by Andrea Di Stefano. With Benicio del Toro, Josh Hutcherson, Claudia Traisac. Cinematography: Luis Sansans. Editing: Maryline Monthieux, David Brenner. Music: Max Richter. Produced by Benicio del Toro, Josh Hutcherson, Moritz Borman, Dimitri Rassam. Running time: 120 minutes.
“I wanted to do something unconventional. So I thought of a crossbreeding of genres: you have comedy, western, musical, tragedy, farce... Also, I went for different tones: black and white cinematography, slow motion, stylized compositions. I tried to fly as high as I could and at the same time deal with the very basics of popular comedy,” said Italian filmmaker Paolo Zucca about El árbitro (L’arbitro), previously screened this year at the festival Cinema Made in Italy, and now commercially released. Of all things, L’arbitro is a somewhat accomplished opera prima that spins the story of the Atletico Pabarile, arguably the worst team of the Sardinian third division, which is constantly defeated, time and again, by Montecrastu, a popular and more vigorous team. Sheer humiliation, and not soccer, is the real name of the game for the unfortunate players of the Atletico Pabarile. However, things are about to change big time. The young Matzutzi (Jacopo Cullin) returns to his home town and starts playing against Montecrastu, and so Pabarile starts winning match after match. Nobody expected something like this, and a feeling of gloom overruns the disoriented players of Montecrastu. In turn, another story comes into the field: that of Cruciani (Stefano Accorsi), a referee with high aspirations. From then on, a story of blind ambition and corruption unfolds. Partly inspired by the writings of Argentine author Osvaldo Soriano, particularly the short story El penal más largo del mundo, Paolo Zucca’s L’arbitro is stylishly shot and fluently narrated — the eye-catching, sometimes slightly surreal black and white cinematography is to be celebrated — and it speaks of the world of lower division soccer with an infectious sense of humour. The best thing is that more than conveying a set of ideas, Zucca is after capturing moods and ambiance stemming out of the drama. And he does so without ever being over formalistic or arty. But there are a few times when L’arbitro becomes repetitive and too explanatory. Things don’t need to be spelled out for viewers when actions and reactions have already spoken in a better way. Furthermore, not all comedic scenes work out that well: they sometimes lack the right timing, or they are far too obvious, or they are just not funny enough. And since comedy is the genre that contains all the other genres, it’s easy to see when something goes wrong. The biggest achievement of Zucca’s opus is how it tackles the many facets of the world of soccer’s dark side by just focusing on seemingly unimportant anecdotes and some occasional vignettes. Production notes El árbitro / L’arbitro (Italy / Argentina, 2013). Directed by: Paolo Zucca. Written by: Paolo Zucca and Barbara Alberti. With Stefano Accorsi, Geppi Cucciari, Jacopo Cullin, Alessio Di Clemante, Marco Messeri, Gregoire Oestermann, Benito Urgu, Franco Fais. Cinematography: Patrizio Patrizi. Editing: Sarah Mc Teigue. Music: Andrea Guerra. Sound: Piero Francellu. Produced by Amedeo Paragani, Daniel Burman, Diego Dubcovsky. Distributed by: Primer Plano. NC13. Running time: 96 minutes.