Antonio Molina (Daniel Quaranta) is a somewhat legendary crook who’s seen better days, and is now trying to clean up his act: he wants no unnecessary betrayals or deaths. But it won’t’ be easy since the corrupt police chief Ibáñez (Ricardo Garino) wants to force him to kill Calavera (Carlos Vuletich) as a way to pay off an old debt. Calavera is a pimp the policeman’s ex-wife Natalia works for. As much as Antonio wants to pay his debt, the entire affair grows more dangerous because of Calavera’s sudden infatuation with Natalia. Add to that another revenge because of snitching and you have a bloodbath coming. With El perro Molina, Argentine indie filmmaker José Celestino Campusano (Vikingo, Vil romance, Fango) once again goes over some of the characteristics that have made him a novel auteur: a narrative depicting the violent, dark side of Greater BA; young and criminal outsiders, corrupt officials and lowlife “losers” as protagonists; doomed love stories and visceral personal liaisons; and raw feelings, irrational motives, deciding the fate of the characters. As regards aesthetics, expect an austere and realistic mise-en-scène; real locations instead of studio settings; an almost invisible camerawork; a realistic sound design with no overwhelming incidental music; fairly colloquial dialogue with — occasionally — more reflexive insights; and, most visible, non-professional actors making their début. As is easy to guess, Campusano goes for strict realism, and in a voluntarily rudimentary manner. It aims to capture spontaneity and leave out rehearsing to make you feel you are there with the characters and witnessing the events. It eschews most traits that make fiction look and sound like fiction. And while in some aspects Campusano succeeds, namely in how recognizable and authentic his universe is, or in the credible dialogue, or in the discreet cinematography, it’s also fair to point out that there’s something that just doesn’t do the trick: the acting. I believe there is such a thing as good acting. Many filmmakers in cinema history have opted for non-professional actors — take Italian Neorrealism, cinéma verité, Iranian cinema — and the results were superlative. The performances by these non-actors are convincing from beginning to end, without the tics and tricks of consummate and seasoned actors who have left true discovery behind. Needless to say, there are also very, very realistic performances from professionals — take the films of John Cassavetes, Leonardo Favio, or Mike Leigh, just to name three very different examples. At any rate, the performances are always compelling. You believe them without hesitating. I personally feel this is not the case with El perro Molina. For the most part, the dialogue is slightly — and sometimes not so slightly — recited and rehearsed. Emotions are unnaturally conveyed and the overall realism is hampered. Many of these non-actors do have troubles with their lines, be it in tone or inflection. That — and more than a handful of undeveloped scenes — turn a film that strives hard to be realistic into a film that often exhibits its own artifice. Production notes El perro Molina (Argentina, 2014). Written, directed and produced by José Celestino Campusano. With Daniel Quaranta, Florencia Bobadilla, Carlos Vuletich, Damián Ávila. Cinematography : Eric Elizondo. Editing: Martín Basterretche. Running time: 88 minutes.
“Juan de los muertos is a zombie comedy, something that has gained popularity in these last years because horror and comedy mix very well thanks to something they have in common: subtext. Consider that Cuba is a country that has been preparing itself to confront the US, but what if we had to confront zombies?” writer/director Alejandro Brugués (Personal Belongings) says about his second opus, which hits a fair number of right notes in some scenes, and yet it ultimately misses on the chance of being memorable as a whole. And not because of a lack of trying. The story goes like this: Juan (Alexis Díaz de Villegas) is your average lazybones, now trying hard to reconnect with his fine-looking daughter who’s visiting Havana, and will soon meet her mother in Miami, where they both live. Lázaro (Jorge Molina) is Juan’s best pal, and he too is trying to bond with his own son. On a given morning, Juan and Lázaro wake up and find out there has been a zombie outbreak all across Cuba. While hundreds are being killed, the media and the government claim that the zombies are, in fact, dissidents in rebellion against the government. But in the current scenario, Juan and Lázaro see a great business opportunity: the killing and disposing of zombies. For a fee, they guarantee they’ll kill your recently deceased loved ones for you. They recruit three more slayers and off they go to make some money. Being the first Cuban zombie movie ever made, Juan de los muertos (Juan of the Dead) deserves some credit for some things it gets right: there’s sufficient good gore in most confrontations (and it goes in crescendo, as it starts kind of mild), there’s also more than a handful of well-executed action scenes, and while the visual effects are not really impressive, they are decent enough to sustain verisimilitude. Some of the comic episodes are indeed funny, but many others just go for easy laughs. Too bad the plot is perhaps too episodic and zigzagging. On the plus side, this version of zombie-infected Havana does look credible enough. Some scenes go for a grotesque effect, and to a certain extent, they succeed. But when it comes to the subtext writer/director Alejandro Brugués refers to, let’s just say that it’s too obvious and one-dimensional — the “insights” into Cuba’s political situation are plainly dumb. They’re meant to be critical, but they fall into commonplace. You know: Cuba is a country where everything is worn out, medication is outdated, elevators and phones don’t work, and so forth. As though Cuba were just that and nothing but. In this movie, you either have Cubans who amusingly complain non-stop and then leave, or proud and Samaritan ones who stay and risk their lives as they fight hordes of zombies non-stop. P.S. Production notes Juan de los muertos (Cuba-Spain, 2011). Written and directed by Alejandro Brugués. With Alexis Díaz de Villegas, Jorge Molina, Andros Perugorría, Andrea Duro, Jazz Vilá. Cinematography: Carles Gusi. Editing: Mercedes Cantero. Running time: 91 minutes.
Alfredo (Abel Tripaldi) and Jorge (Martín Rodríguez) are journalists from a small left-wing weekly in Montevideo, Uruguay. Whereas Jorge is a newcomer to the arena, Alfredo is a former political militant and has plenty of experience at his job. It’s elections time and it’s very likely that, for the first time ever, the left-wing party Frente Amplio will reach the presidency. One night and out of the blue, a mysterious man contacts the journalists. He claims he’s an ex-member of the Armed Forces and that he has undisclosed information about human rights violations during the 1973-1985 military dictatorship, including details about a clandestine operation called Operación Zanahoria. As the storyline of Uruguayan Enrique Buchichio unfolds, you realize that it had a limited potential for an averagely decent movie. It’s the kind of film that first opens up a wide range of dramatic possibilities, but then it falls short to meet most expectations. Not necessarily, or not only, because it becomes over-plotted way too soon, but mostly because it fails to achieve neither suspense nor surprise. Which is undoubtedly the worst thing that can happen to a thriller of any kind. No wonder why: it’s incredibly talky from beginning to end, and not in a good way, as each single detail of the plot is explained in informative dialogue, and not through more cinematic means. Add to that poor performances from the entire cast, a static mise-en-scene, and a lousy editing that has no rhythm whatsoever. On the plus side, the photography is fine and functional to the story for it sometimes accomplishes a sombre atmosphere. And that’s about it. Production notes Zanahoria (Uruguay-Argentina/2014) Written and directed by Enrique Buchichio. With César Troncoso, Martín Rodríguez, Abel Tripaldi, Néstor Guzzini. Cinematography: Pablo Parra. Editing: Guillermo Casanova. Running time: 100 minutes.
Julia Brian, a former construction worker, is now 65-years-old and was born a man. Up until his teen years, he was a run-of-the-mill gay man. Then “he” became a “she”, as a transvestite, and back in 1993 she had her sex change operation at Hospital de Clínicas in Montevideo, Uruguay. It was definitely one of the most important events of her life — not only because Julia’s body finally matched her gender identity, but also because it was something her 75-year-old companion, Ignacio González, had long wanted since he first met her as a man at a city park on Christmas Eve. Ever since then, they have been together every single day of their lives. And now, despite their age, they have decided to get married, just like any regular couple in love. Uruguayan filmmaker Aldo Garay met the couple long before they thought of tying the knot. After getting to know them and gaining their trust, he set out to film their daily life, with no emphasis on any central events, but placing his gaze on small incidents and day to day occurrences. So his film El casamiento is an observational documentary for the most part, yet there also quite a few fragments of candid interviews with the couple. Some of these interviews explore the subjectivity and inner lives of Julia and Ignacio, whereas others are just illustrative of their story together. And that’s perhaps one of the problems here: a certain lack of momentous insights and observations on so rich a material. And it’s not because the couple is shy or reluctant to talk before the camera. On the contrary: they behave very naturally and in a friendly way. And it surely seems they are more than glad to share their experiences. That’s why you get a feeling of truthfulness and honesty throughout. As regards the observational part, there’s an almost equal number of telling, eloquent scenes that depict their warm, emotional bond, and merely descriptive ones that fail to elicit any kind of drama. In these scenes, El casamiento becomes routine fare without much appeal. But at least it’s partly compensated by the subtle and charming photography that exudes sweetness as well as adding a poetic layer to the environment the characters live in. Most importantly, the presence of the interviewer is invisible and so his camera is never intruding, and in this ways viewers are prompted to being direct witnesses of the intimacy of a couple that may be odd to some (or many), and yet it’s just like another tender couple. That is to say, two people who care for each other, promise to be as one both in good and bad times, and do their best to be happy together. It makes sense: that’s what love is all about. Production notes El casamiento / The Wedding (Uruguay – Argentina 2011) Written and directed by Aldo Garay. With: Julia Brian, Ignacio González. Cinematography: Germán De León, Nicolás Soto. Editing: Federico la Rosa. Running time: 71 minutes
Carl Casper (John Favreau) is an eminent chef at a posh restaurant in Los Angeles. As you’d expect of a true professional, Carl is always trying to come up with something new instead of recycling old formulae. However, Riva, the restaurant’s owner (Dustin Hoffman) is one hell of a control freak who won’t allow Carl to experiment. He’s the kind of person who would rather be safe than sorry, which drives Carl crazy. On a given day, Marvin (Robert Downey Jr), a famed food critic, writes a very negative review about Carl’s dishes. It doesn’t take long for the chef to lose his temper but the worst part is that the heated discussion is videotaped and goes straight to the web. So Carl soon finds himself unemployed. His reputation is at stake, so he decides to go back to his roots and opens a food truck — along with his son helping him out. Soon enough, he goes on the road in search of experiences that would give him back the passion which once characterized him. John Favreau not only stars in Chef: he also wrote and directed it. He’s dealing with very different material from that of Iron Man and Iron Man 2, for which he rightfully deserved almost unanimous recognition from both viewers and critics alike. Considering he’s a technically accomplished director with a good sense of a fluid narrative, the fact that his new film is very well designed and executed shouldn’t come as a surprise. That and the fine quality of the actors — Scarlett Johansson is another employee at the restaurant — turn Chef into an affable, friendly feature. However, the screenplay doesn’t offer much to sink your teeth into. This story of a man finding his true colours once again — and in doing so, getting a chance to recover an emotional connection with his son — is tackled in a simplistic manner, pretty much devoid of nuances, and with a high degree of predictability. Even for a run-of-the-mill dramatic comedy, these voluntary choices don’t do justice to a moderately promising premise. And it’s not that Favreau aimed at making something different and couldn’t deliver it. On the contrary: it’s crystal-clear this formulaic film is what he wanted. Here and there, however, there are traces of a more personal movie: a few verbal exchanges which eschew commonplace, an occasional scene that is reflective rather than one-dimensional, and a certain feeling of authenticity that makes you care for the characters. Had Chef followed these traits from beginning to end, it would have been a film with a singular viewpoint. As it is, everything is pretty much self-explanatory and somehow unnecessarily obvious in its metaphorical aspect — the chef would be an indie director whereas the restaurant owner would be the chief of a cinema studio. Last, but by no means least: if a film is to be evaluated according to how much it meets the expectations it arises and how well it’s played out, then Chef would be successful. More precisely, it’s the type of film for movie-goers who would rather be safe than sorry. Production notes Chef (US, 2014). Written and directed by Jon Favreau. Stars: Jon Favreau, John Leguizamo, Scarlett Johansson, Sofía Vergara, Robert Downey Jr., Oliver Platt, Dustin Hoffman, Bobby Cannavale. Cinematography: Kramer Morgenthau. Editing: Robert Leighton. Running time: 115 minutes.
Habitares, the debut film of Argentine producer-turned-filmmaker Marina Zeising is, first and foremost, a documentary made with the best intentions. It’s meant to be a significant exploration of the artistic experience of Herta Scheurle, a friend of the family of the filmmaker, who in her youth in the 1960s spent a brief period of time in the artistic commune of famed director Rainer Werner Fassbinder and musician Peer Raben. She also acted in a few plays in Argentina, without much success, and it was at her father’s insistence that she pursue a conventional profession — which ended up being teaching German — that Herta stopped following her dreams. That is until very recently, when she officially retired as a professor. Now she wants to make up for the lost time and have a chance to become a sound artist. But the thing is there’s too little in Herta Scheurle’s artistic experience to explore. Her few performances, while valuable to her, are nothing particularly compelling to make up a story of a larger scope. Furthermore, the archive footage regarding Fassbinder and his company is equally anecdotic and doesn’t say much about anything. The same goes for her personal photographs. What is interesting and worth exploring though is Herta’s sense of regret and feelings about perhaps having wasted a good deal of her life doing something she didn’t enjoy. Her unfulfilled yearnings and her willingness to keep desire alive provide moderately good dramatic material. To some extent, the maker of Habitares accomplishes the task of accounting for that as she engages into a relaxed, friendly dialogue with her subject and does bring about some confessions. When we get to look deeper into Herta, that’s when the film is alive and kicking — and when she jokes, in a very loving way. But for the most part what you have is a sketch of a project that could have certainly used more research, more introspection, and more of a singular gaze to bring about deeper aspects that seem to still remain in the shadows. Or perhaps what you get is all there is to see. Production notes Habitares (Argentina, 2014). Written and directed by Marina Zeising – with the collaboration of Herta Scheurle. Cinematography and editing: Marina Zeising. Running time: 61 minutes.
“There’s much misunderstanding about the origins of tango. In Uruguay, they say it’s Uruguayan, and in Argentina they say it’s Argentine. But it’s actually from the eastern border of Finland. The shepherds who remained with the cattle originally started singing tango to keep the wolves away from the cattle. And also because they felt lonely. Slowly, people started to dance tango at the dance halls by the lakes. It was 1850, and by 1880 it reached the west coast. Then the sailors took it to Buenos Aires, the locals heard it from the sailors’ bars, and it suddenly became popular also in Argentina”, says no less than celebrated Finnish filmmaker Aki Kaurismäki at the beginning of German director Viviane Blumenschein’s enjoyable documentary Tango de una noche de verano (Summer Night Tango), where three Argentine musician friends embark on a welcoming, pleasant musical voyage to actually find out if Finland is the home of tango. Kaurismäki also says he’s a little angry at Argentines for “forgetting” the true origins of tango. In turn, one of the travelling musicians says it drives him crazy to hear Finns saying that tango belongs to them. But neither the filmmaker nor the musician show real anger. Each insists that the other party is wrong. So, with the excuse of knowing “who the inventor is,” Blumenschein’s smartly and playfully starts to expose a wide range of facets of tango — be it Argentine or Finnish — that speak not only of its musicality, but above all of its emotional, spiritual nature. As gifted singer Chino Laborde and guitar player Dipi Kvitko, from Duo Tango Tango, alongside brilliant bandoneonist Pablo Greco, start their trip to rural Finland, meeting great Finnish musicians with an equal love for tango, such as Reijo Taipale, Sanna Pietiainen and M.A. Numminen, a new universe — both melancholic and serene — unfolds. Though Tango de una noche de verano resorts to the usual interviews, descriptive location shots, rural and urban day and night scenes, rehearsals and musical routines, it does so with unusual narrative fluency, capturing the affective quality of the spoken word and body language, employing melody as a soothing homogenizing element, and portraying an environment of natural beauty with a discreet pictorial edge. There’s also a slightly infectious sense of humour that allows the most intimate moments to surface in a very spontaneous manner, and soon you realize that, while all the background on Finnish versus Argentine tango is indeed appealing in itself, what matters the most is getting to know these individuals with their singularities and their common love for a kind of music that makes people feel closer, and more alive. As one of the Finnish musicians says: “You could say that before cell phones, Finnish people used to speak so little that tango was indispensable. Man wouldn’t dare to say a woman he loved her. So tango brought them closer without talking.” Production notes: Tango de una noche de verano (Argentina, Germany, 2012). Written and directed by Viviane Blumenschein. Produced by Gebrueder Beetz, Gema Films, DF/3sat and Illume Ltd. Running time: 84 minutes.
Despite the insistent disclaimers at the beginning of the film, Abel Ferrara’s Welcome to New York is very much based on a real life scandal: the arrest of Dominique Strauss-Kahn, French diplomat and Managing Director of the IMF, in May 2011, at JFK airport due to allegations that he had sexually assaulted a hotel maid. Whereas Strauss-Kahn denied the assault, he did admit he was guilty of inappropriate behaviour. As expected, the civil suit was later settled out of court, but nonetheless the French diplomat resigned shortly after. In Ferrara’s film, Gerard Depardieu plays Mr. Devereaux, a powerful corporate-type man who’s more of a sex maniac than anything else. He parties big time with prostitutes and employees alike, be they gorgeous and sophisticate, or plain and unattractive like the black hotel maid he forces into oral sex. Of course, it’s not all about sex, as there is also a craving for supremacy and control, drugs and alcohol. In drawing this merciless portrait of a hedonistic and yet ultimately doomed man, Ferrara goes for a larger picture that speaks of an entire political class at large. Jacqueline Bisset stars as Mr. Devereaux’s wife, and while the physique de role suits her perfectly — picture an aging beautiful woman, as elegant as she is manipulative — her acting is not that memorable. You can’t help but feel she plays her part by the book, with not much of a personal input. In stark contrast, Depardieu delivers a compelling, deliberately over the top performance which turns his character into a sleazy, despicable man you wouldn’t ever want to cross paths with — his nude scenes often verge on the grotesque. Excess is the name of the game here, and it’s found in the foul language, the psychological and physical aggression, and most important, the absence of all kinds of loving sentiment. These are, after all, dehumanized beings. As far as depicting the many situations and happenings Devereaux and company are involved in, Welcome to New York is impressive in its authenticity. Long takes capture algid moments and prolong them seemingly forever. But when the script tries to go deeper, meaning to delve into Devereaux’s pathological marriage and his equally pathological condition, or to account for past events and subtleties in the way characters relate, then it becomes too obvious and one dimensional. It’s when it attempts to explain and analyze what happens that it falls short. Because it becomes didactic, as if viewers hadn’t already grasped what the whole thing was about.
“It’s a story of love, death and how to keep on living”, says celebrated Argentine filmmaker Lisandro Alonso about Jauja, his new film, an international co-production that won the FIPRESCI award at Cannes and recently opened the international competition of the Mar del Plata Film Festival. To Vigo Mortensen, the star of the film, also a producer and creator of the musical score, Jauja is no less than “an Argentine-Danish existential Western.” The truth is that Jauja can be many things to many people, all of them somewhat ungraspable and hard to summarize. Which in this case is a good thing. In fact, Alonso has done it again — and with uncanny mastery: he’s created an entire universe of his own that’s mesmerizing and surreal at once, yet also earthly and concrete — as contradictory as that may sound. Although this time Alonso does have “a story” to tell, which wasn’t the case with, say, La Libertad or Los muertos, which are strictly observational and anthropological, the truth still remains that the story/stories told in the director’s new opus often feel like passageways to immerse the viewer into the modes of representation from the so-called primitive cinema, as well as to establish a very lively dialogue with other aesthetics and narratives. This is film not so much for the intellect, but for the realm of the senses. Set in the times of the Desert Campaign in the Patagonia, Jauja tells the story of a Danish engineer (Viggo Mortensen), his teenage daughter (Danish actress Ghita Nørby) and a handful of soldiers who travel to an uncertain destination as they face unforeseen hardships which include shoot-outs, dead bodies, hallucinations and spectres. Driven by desire and love (or the other way around), the engineer’s daughter flees the scene with a soldier, metaphorically destroying her father’s spirit. Sooner rather than later, he sets on a frantic search to recover the person he loves the most. From then on, new universes are to be unveiled. Strikingly shot in vivid, luminous colours that might turn dark and ominous in a blink, edited at the most leisured pace you can imagine, and permeated by a dreamlike atmosphere that makes you wonder what’s real and what’s not (does it matter anyway?), Jauja is a most unusual period piece that defies the notions of genre crossbreeding just like it expands the meaning of auteur cinema. And yes, it’s as contemplative as Alonso’s previous features, although it different ways. And the more you contemplate, the better you’ll see the wide panorama unfolding in all its richness. Jauja will be commercially released tomorrow in Buenos Aires. Production notes Jauja (Coprod., 2014). Directed by Lisandro Alonso. Written by Lisandro Alonso and Fabián Casas. Stars: Viggo Mortensen, Viilbjork Malling, Esteban Bigliardi, Ghita Nørby. Music by Viggo Mortensen. Produced by Viggo Mortensen. Running time: 108 minutes.
There’s a somewhat menacing and slightly disturbing atmosphere in Ezio Massa’s 2/11 Día de los muertos (11/2 Day of the Dead), largely a thriller with a horror edge to it. It’s not only because of the desaturated, washed out colours that make the locations look sort of moribund, but also because of a hazy layer of shadows that permeates most of the night scenes. Some close ups of the actors, precisely when the camera captures them with worrying and pensive looks, add a sense of despair and intrigue — it certainly helps that their performances are rightfully restrained as to make them realistic (Juan Gil Navarro, Agustina Lecouna, and Nicolás Alberti head the list). So, in terms of the overall ambiance, you could say everything is pretty much in sync. And then there’s the script. Not that it’s that dreadful, but it falls very short in trying to build a tense, intriguing story as the one a thriller calls for — let alone one with elements of horror. And it’s not because the initial premise is overworked, but because it’s wrongly executed almost from beginning to end. No wonder: the basic mechanisms for achieving true suspense are missing in action. The story goes like this: a naked man in shock, bathed in blood, is found running through the woods surrounding a small town. He can’t remember what happened to him or to his three friends, who’ve disappeared into thin air. His older brother is a policeman — the only person who could help to remember what he has chosen or was forced to forget. As far as the set-up goes, no problems are to be found. You get to know the environment, some things about the characters, some past events that occurred 15 years before, and some details about an unresolved conflict between the brothers. But from then on, 2/11 Día de los muertos takes forever to lift off. Some issues include scenes cut short, others that linger too long, little dramatic progression, a somewhat disorganized narrative, and a musical score that’s overplayed to the point of being annoying. And when the bloody massacre is finally onscreen, there’s not nearly enough gore, graphic violence, and blood. Let alone horror. Production notes 2/11 Día de los muertos (Argentina, 2012). Directed by Ezio Massa. Written by Ezio Massa, Sebastián Tabany. Stars: Juan Gil Navarro, Agustina Lecouna, Nicolás Alberti. Cinematography: Leonardo Val. Running time: 92 minutes.