The problem is no longer how to produce a film. In a way, nowadays anybody with a camera and a computer can make a film. It’s no longer a production issue. The problem now is why you make a movie. At any rate, this was always the problem. But production issues used to override this fundamental issue: does your story have a heart and soul? Or are we simply making a film because we have a camera and a computer?,” says Nicolás Prividera, a notable Argentine filmmaker and critic, in a brief interview in Rosendo Ruiz’s Tres D, a technically well-crafted local feature that efficiently mixes documentary and fiction, although, ironically, it doesn’t have much of a heart or a soul. Tres D takes place over a few days at the Cosquín International Film Festival, where Matías (Matías Ludueña) and Mica (Micaela Ritcacco), two youngsters in their 20s, work together documenting some of the facets of the indie festival. Among other things, there are snippets of interviews with the likes of Gustavo Fontán and José Campusano, two equally thought-provoking and yet totally different local filmmakers who are screening their films. And with Jorge García, Alejandro Cozza, and Prividera, on the critics’ side. At the same time, Matías and Mica begin to establish a friendship, or perhaps something more than that — it remains to be seen. And there’s Lorena (Lorena Cavicchia), an attractive folk-dancer on the verge of a romantic break up. Incidentally, she and Matías seem to like each other as well. Rosendo Ruiz, whose debut film was the successful De caravana (2010), definitely has a knack for skillfully linking the documentary edge of the film with the fictional one, so transitions are smooth and, most importantly, logical within the narrative. He also does a good job at capturing the overall atmosphere of the event as well as a few particularities. In terms of “how” it’s done, Tres D does not fail. However, there’s no genuine depth in the approach, no insights other than those you can see at first glance, no digging up. In short: there’s a lot of rich material here that hasn’t been put to good use. That’s why it often ends up being anecdotic. As for the fiction side, a few details and gestures here and there about the possibility of a romantic story (or whatever) are not enough for some dramatic interest. There’s an “air” of something, but that “something” never takes off at all. It’s clear that the film is not intended to be an exhaustive study of cinema within the cinema, but this deliberate light take is of no emotional or intellectual resonance either. If you are a festival-goer or a critic, you are bound to see the inside jokes and references, which are quite precise and well-thought. But they are no more than inside jokes. When you get to think and feel what Tres D is all about, you may realize it’s got a feeble heart and a pale soul. Production notes TRES D (Argentina, 2014). Written and directed by Rosendo Ruiz. Cast: Matías Ludueña, Micaela Ritacco, José Celestino Campusano, Lorena Cavicchia, Maura Sajeva, Eduardo Leyrado. Cinematography : Pablo González Galetto. Editing: Ramiro Sonzini, Rosendo Ruiz. Running time: 91 minutes
Israel filmmaker Rama Burshtein takes a new look at the issue of arranged marriages in her debut feature Lemale et ha’halat (Fill the Void), the story of a young wo-man kindly “pressured” into marrying a widower whose late wife was the young woman’s sister. Fill the Void takes place amid the closed-community of Orthodox Jews in Tel Aviv, it was made by an Orthodox director, and is targeted at a secular audience. The plot kicks off during the Festival of Purim, when an upper-middle class Hasidic family is faced with the death of 28-year-old Esther after giving birth to a son. After the funeral, Rabbi Aharon (Chaim Sharir), the patriarch of the family, is to collaborate into deciding what his son-in-law, Yochay (Yiftach Klein), must do about his status as a widower. Rivka (Irit Sheleg), Aharon’s wife, comes with a solution: she talks Shira (Hadas Sharon), her 18-year-old daughter, into marrying Yochay and also becoming a good mother to his little boy. There are quite a few notable traits in Rama Burshtein’s assured debut, chiefly the spontaneity of the performances, a persuasive use of close-ups and the right camera angles to capture the slightest of gestures and glimpses, and an understanding gaze from the inside rather than the usual critique from the outside. It’s very easy to feel you are a privileged witness of every single detail that makes up a complex canvas where feelings and tradition mix, and not without a degree of conflict. But there are no good guys and bad guys here, nor good woman neither bad women, for that matter. The thing is Shira is not really forced to marry Yochay, but instead obliged to be faithful to her feelings and act accordingly. If she doesn’t marry him, somebody else will. It doesn’t have to be her. But if she can’t tell what she feels and wants? Or if she herself feels obliged even if others allow her to be as free as possible? How easy, or difficult, is it to actually be in contact with your inner self? So what you have is an examination of how individuals deal with something as crucial as sentimentally devoting yourself to another human being while remaining within the frame of closed-knit community with a set of strict rules. What’s most important is that the viewpoint is actually humanistic instead of dogmatic. Not that it tears down the walls of tradition for that would be impossible. But it understands them in the way insiders do, with their cons. It shows the heart of the matter in all its complexity. Perhaps what prevents Fill the Void from being more attention-grabbing and involving is that most of the story deals with the overall state of things and it doesn’t develop each singular story as much as it called for. It exposes and sketches them, but it doesn’t follow the many possible emotional ramifications. And at times you may feel too far away from the drama, even if you are close to the big picture.
Rosa fuerte, the debut film of Argentine filmmaker Laura Dariomerlo, has a few scenes with genuine pathos where you actually believe that the characters are going through a hell of emotional pain and anguish. One of them depicts Manuel (Pablo Rago) asking his wife Cristina (Leticia Brédice) whether the baby she carries in her womb is actually his. Since she’s cheating on him, it could very well be her lover’s. She tells her husband it’s his. But, indirectly, she also tells him that she’ll tell her lover he is the real father — and not her husband. As it is, Cristina is about to leave Manuel for good. After who knows how many years together, the couple is running on empty. From now on, it seems it’s all downhill. There’s also another scene where Manuel comforts Cristina when she gets a fit of intense physical pain and her body seizes from tips to toes. You see her in acute pain and you believe her pain. You see him trying to make the pain go away, and you hope the pain will go away. In these scenes, the actors do their best within a screenplay that, for the most part, lacks a truly compelling edge. But these scenes make sense, they work and are touching. But since Rosa fuerte is meant to be some kind of study of a separation, a close-up look at hurtful matters of the heart, it should be dramatic enough to keep you caring for the characters. It’s not meant to be an icy film, and yet sometimes the drama is too far away to be felt. Or there’s too little of it. Which is to say the “less is more” narrative Rosa fuerte goes for is seldom accomplished. Too often you get the feeling you are just watching a series of loosely connected situations that never fully develop into big-scale drama. That and the little overall tension turn into a dull exercise on sentimental liaisons. When the few good scenes come in, you can see the original potential of a seemingly simple premise such as: “a couple splits up with much difficulty, or at least they try to.” Sure, it’s a story which has been told endless times before, but that’s not necessarily a problem if new insights are incorporated. Or if the performances make you feel and think you’re seeing this stuff for the first time. But that’s hardly the case here. Production notes Rosa Fuerte (Argentina, 2014). Written and directed by: Laura Dariomerlo. With: Leticia Brédice, Pablo Rago, Santiago Rapela, Ivana Cur. Cinematography: Agustín Alvarez. Editing: Javier Favor. Running time: 90 minutes. @pablsuarez
Diamante, by Argentine filmmaker Emiliano Grieco, focuses on the life of Ezequiel, a young kid who lives in a fishing village on the shores of the Paraná River. Like his father and his grandfather, he too wants to be a fisherman. So they teach him the basics and more, and since he’s a quick learner, it seems he’ll become a seasoned fisherman in no time. With his mother and sisters, he shares special tender moments in his tranquil summery every day. He will soon be a teenager who’s left childhood behind. In the meantime, he’s still growing up. Typical of an observational documentary, Diamante follows closely Ezequiel’s every step. Writer and director Emiliano Grieco also is in charge of the cinematography, and his camera is astute and aware of the details of Ezequiel’s world. There’s a certain atmosphere of immediate heat and damp cold that has been very well-captured. There’s also a way of framing and representing faces, objects, areas of this universe that’s very eloquent and, to a certain extent, very enticing too. When it comes to feelings and characters, they can be said to be the same. As time goes by in a leisured manner, very minor events take place and they eventually build up some kind of narrative. Yet this narrative is not strong enough to make up a compelling depiction of the vicissitudes of these slices of life. It’s plain clear that this is a contemplative feature, but its images are not hypnotic to provide — they are spontaneous and nonchalant, and this is another asset. All in all, Diamante offers more than just a glimpse of a little-known territory as it captures much of the mood and ambiance that permeate the entire place. In this regard, it’s indeed well done. And the people featured in the film come across as real, never as characters posing for the camera, and this is also to be celebrated. However, when it drags, which is too often, you tend to lose interest in this rich universe. Production notes: Diamante (Argentina, 2013). Written and directed by Emiliano Grieco. Produced by Daniel Werner, Emiliano Grieco. With: Ezequiel Molina. Cinematography by: Emiliano Grieco. Editing by: Ernesto Felder, Emiliano Grieco. Running time: 60 minutes.
Tropicália: a chorus of Brazilian voices The Brazilian documentary Tro-picália, by Marcelo Machado, examines the many aspects of one of Brazil’s most influential cultural movements: tropicália, which started in the late 1960s’ against an unstable political and social atmosphere as a reaction to both the pop music and the growing nationalism of the time. Tropicália was first a way for newborn artists to express their revolutionary thinking against the imposing military dictatorship, and it truly became a real struggle to protect freedom of speech as well as individual and civil liberties. A gathering of voices that spoke up in unison. And while it’s true that tropicália first had a strong start as a mix of diverse traits, that is to say Brazilian cultural characteristics with American and European ones, it’s equally true that it didn’t last that long in its original shape. Due to the several social and political circumstances, the movement was later on diluted into a lighter, for export version known as tropicalism. Nonetheless, a precedent of outmost importance had been set. Tropicália, the documentary, is above all, a feature with plenty of exhaustive research. Not only because of the numerous archive footage, but mostly because of its quality. Not quite often, to say the least, you get to see clips of TV shows, photographs, snippets of past interviews and new ones, featuring the likes of Caetano Veloso, Os Mutantes, Tom Zé, Rita Lee, Nara Leão, Gilberto Gil, and Gal Costa performing live and giving their testimonies about their priceless experiences. Since the whole tropicália cultural movement was not restricted to musicians, there are also interviews with filmmaker Glauber Rocha (as well as fragments of hi seminal film Terra em Trance) and poet Torquato Neto (among others). In fact, the discovery of the distinctive colours of the many voices that make up the chorus to account for both Tropicália and tropicalism is perhaps the chief appeal of this well narrated documentary. What they thought and think now, what they said and say now, it’s all juxtaposed in a thought provoking manner that invites viewers to immerse themselves into a one-of-a kind experience. As an informative piece, Tropicália fulfills the expectations it arises. However, considering the complexity of the entire phenomenon, perhaps it would have been more desirable to make a longer feature, a bit more in depth, with more layers to unveil. You may feel that you’d have wanted to know even more, and you’d be right. It’s just that the universe depicted is so fascinating that you might want to stay in there a bit longer. Production notes Tropicália (Brazil, 2012). Directed by Marcelo Machado. Produced by Denise Gomes, Paula Cosenza. With Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Gal Costa, Tom Zé, Rita Lee. Running time: 82 minutes.
If you value a film’s ideological viewpoint and its commitment to timely issues, then Uahat, the documentary by Argentine filmmakers Julián Borrell, Franco González and Demian Santander, is a must see. Not only does it present a poignant perspective, but it also clearly and vehemently speaks up. Uahat focuses on the increasingly desperate situation of the Wichí community in the Chaco Salteño, on the borders of Bolivia and Paraguay. They’ve lost (and keep losing) their main food source: the fish from the Pilcomayo river, which has been deviated to Paraguayan territory because of the Proyecto Pantalón, a commercial agreement between Argentina and Paraguay executed back in the 90s. A dynamic documentary aiming to denounce and raise awareness, Uahat peels back the complicated layers of the Wichís’ problem and raises controversial questions as to where the responsibilities lie. The tribe’s chief worries that the needs of Argentina’s native communities have been repeatedly neglected by several administrations. The documentary concedes that there has been some improvement over the past few years, thanks to the joint effort of active members of these communities, who have firmly decided enough is enough. Still, there’s a long way to go. Uahat is honest, moving and persuasive — enlightening the audience to a legitimate issue without construing the truth to elicit sympathy. It’s truly informative from the first frame to the last. With that being said, the cinematography is not up to par. At times, the voice-over becomes redundant, adding unnecessary commentary when images would have been more compelling. Fortunately, none of these flaws lessens the impact of this much needed indictment, as its power lies in the voices and faces of those who have the courage to speak up. Had the filming been more daring and effective, the movie-watching experience would have been more gripping. Production notes Uahat – El Padre Río negado para sus hijos (Argentina/Bolivia/Paraguay 2013).Written, directed and edited by Julián Borrell, Franco González y Demian Santander. Cinematography: Julián Borrell y Demian Santander. Running time: 76 minutes. @PablSuarez
Celia (Betiana Blum) is a spinster in her late sixties who hasn’t lost all hopes of getting married, even if she doesn’t acknowledge it. Her sister, Aída (Lucrecia Capello), is a few years older and a widow with a daughter and a granddaughter living in Canada. Both sisters live together in an ordinary apartment in an equally ordinary building where everybody knows everybody — and some pry shamelessly into the lives of others. Aída’s daughter, Marita, is about to take them to live in Canada and care for them in these last years of their lives, so it’s time for goodbyes. But a few incidents along the way will change the predetermined plans for good. Perhaps there’s yet love to be found where you least expect it. There are a handful of other colourful supporting characters in Las chicas del 3º, the new film by Argentine filmmaker Maximiliano Pelosi (Otro entre otros, Una familia gay), including a janitor with a penchant for gaming, a broken-hearted young housewife with a despicable husband, a new male gay couple into mild S&M, a good-looking brunette who does tricks for money, a hot young man and his sister, and a Bulgarian night nurse. For the most part, Las chicas del 3º is a situation comedy that covers overworked territory in a formulaic, uncreative manner. In essence, there’s little here that you haven’t seen before in diverse films depicting the vicissitudes and oddities of living in your average neighbourly building. As was to be expected, the two sisters like gossiping, prying, approving or disapproving of what others do. And the others are, above all, stereotypes rather than fleshed-out characters. For that matter, so are the two sisters, but they are somewhat more developed. The problem is not that they are stereotypes, since that’s a valid option for the genre, but that they are very thin, unremarkable stereotypes who neither go over the top nor strike a funny low key. They just lie in an insipid middle ground that fails to be gripping. Even the overall narrative structure has more to do with loosely connected dated television skits than with smartly intertwined cinematic gags. On the plus side, the professional performances of Betiana Blum and Lucrecia Capello are kind of engaging in their own terms. Both actresses have the right timing and know-how to make the most out of each comic situation, and so they effortlessly keep the film going. To a lesser extent, Manuel Vicente also does a good job. Other than that, there’s nothing much to write home about. Production notes Las chicas del 3º – un consorcio feliz (Argentina, 2014). Directed by Maximiliano Pelosi. With Betiana Blum, Lucrecia Capello, Manuel Vicente, Ingrid Grudke, Juana Repetto, Carlos Kaspar, Mosquito Sancineto, Emilia “Picky” Paino, Bernarda Pagés, Luciano Linardi. Written by Diego A. Fleischer, Marcelo Burello and Maximiliano Pelosi. Cinematography: Matías Carneiro. Editing: Damián Tetelbaum. Running time: 83 minutes.
Teen shoots himself and comedy ensues “My previous films were not anchored in humour, but many people saw them as comedies. My new film Dos disparos (Two Gunshots) is a comedy, but perhaps it may not be taken as such. Despite of what you may think from reading the synopsis, it really is a comedy,” says Argentine filmmaker Martín Rejtman — widely and rightfully regarded as the spiritual father of the so-called New Argentine cinema whose debut film Rapado (shot in 1992, released in 1996) was a mordant exploration of the torpor affecting Argentine youth and their families, as well as a demonstration that a cinema capable of pushing aesthetic and narrative boundaries was possible in Argentina. Then came the utterly witty and sometimes hilarious Silvia Prieto (1999), the story of a 27-yearl-old woman who becomes obsessed when she learns of another woman who shares her name. With Entrenamiento elemental para actores (2009), co-directed with theatre director Federico León, he explored the narrative modes, relationships and associations between theatre and cinema by examining an atypical drama class for children. A few minutes into Dos disparos, after an energetic disco scene where 16-year-old Mariano (Rafael Federman) dances solo, we get to see an extreme act filmed quite casually: upon returning from a night out, Mariano finds a gun in the garage. Without thinking, as though driven by an impulse, he shoots himself twice. Once in the stomach and then in the head. But he survives. From then on, we are witnesses to how Mariano’s next of kin and acquaintances react and cope, in different ways, with the situation. Needless to say, none of them finds it remotely easy to understand Mariano’s acts and, for that matter, his everyday actions too — gunshots or not. Arguably Rejtman’s most accomplished film to date, Dos disparos at times shares the cut-and-dried tone of Rapado, and at others, the engaging, infectious humour of Silvia Prieto . This time, the director’s keen eye for the mechanics of the absurd is focused on the underlying depression, on personal connections meant to be made and yet missed, and on dysfunctional behaviours that have turned into second nature. It’s also about a young teen drifting through a world where he seems to have no place to call his own. More often than not, Rejtman’s characters are certainly at odds with their surroundings. But what makes Rejtman’s new film so compelling is that, however absurd, every element is there for a reason. Chance encounters, coincidences, nights at the disco, nonsensical conversations: they all add up to a moving depiction of seclusion and estrangement. Let alone the carefully constructed dialogue that deliberately resorts to clichés and commonplace and is uttered in unusual contexts. Paradoxically enough, it also sounds quite realistic at times. Which then again should come as no surprise, since the writer/director has always striven to give new meanings to how the spoken word is conveyed in cinema. With more narrative sophistication than his previous outings, the tight script and outstanding acting ensemble draw a wondrously poignant portrait of paralysis and miscommunication in present-day Buenos Aires. And yet its unflinching view of the state of things here and now is subversively funny, as you’d expect from a very personal comedy. This is not to say that his depiction of an existentialist constant mood in generations of Argentines is any less serious because of its humour. On the contrary. Dos disparos is also a smartly disguised drama that proves to be anguishing and barren. Or you may call it a dramatic comedy, if you will. In any case, it surely is one of the best local features released so far this year — if not the best. Production notes Dos disparos (Two Gunshots, Argentina, 2014). Written and directed by Martín Rejtman. With Susana Pampín, Rafael Federman, Benjamín Coelho. Cinematography: Lucio Bonelli. Editing: Martín Mainoli. Running time: 104 minutes.
It’s 1987, a hot summer day in your average small rural Argentine town. So hot that everyone longs for rain. Lucía (Melissa Romero) and Elena (Florencia Decal) are two teenage sisters stranded at their parent’s home. Bored stiff, Elena lies up in bed with her leg in a plaster, whereas Lucía swims laps at the pool early in the morning. Later that day, she spends some time studying hard, as she wants to enrol in the University of Buenos Aires. But her annoying younger sister keeps distracting her, so she heads to the countryside with Ana (Sol Zavala), a shy book-loving girl her age. Far from the messing-around of other teens and the presence of adults, the two girls are to confront their most intimate, newborn feelings with unexpected tenderness. Featured earlier this year in the Berlin Generation section, Argentine filmmaker Inés Barrionuevo debut film Atlántida is a coming of age story that hinges on the tiniest details of the everyday rather than on big-scale drama. Like the works by Celina Murga (Ana y los otros, La tercera orilla), Atlántida also shows the filmmaker’s belief that the essence of things is to be found in extreme naturalism: observing people and their routines, following characters closely with an unobtrusive camera, focusing on faces and gestures, and only using dialogue when strictly necessary. And while it’s true that in formal terms Atlántida is indeed an accomplished feature — the believable performances, especially that of Florencia Decal, create convincingly candid characters; the luminous cinematography ably conveys summery feelings and moods; the leisurely paced editing perfectly expresses the laid back rhythm of small towns — it’s equally true that this story of sexual awakening could have used a stronger dramatic drive. Granted, the many well-elaborated vignettes build up a singular universe. But the deliberate absence of a stronger dramatic crescendo doesn’t always prove effective. Perhaps a few more dramatic scenes would have given the film a more gripping edge. It’s clear that the filmmaker went for a low-key approach, which is perhaps one of the best ways to tell this story. The problem is that it gets too low-key often times. Leaving that aside, Atlántida is a film that addresses some of the joys and tribulations of adolescence with modest elegance and emotional honesty. P.S. Atlántida (Argentina, 2014) Written and directed by Inés María Barrionuevo. With Melisa Romero, Sol Zavala, Florencia Decall. Cinematography: Ezequiel Salinas. Editing: Rosario Suárez. Running time: 88 minutes.
Daniel de la Vega’s Necrofobia is a worthy landmark among local genre films First and foremost, Daniel de la Vega’s Necrofobia is a rara avis: an Argentine horror movie shot in 3D (quite successfully); it belongs to the giallo subgenre (in the vein of Dario Argento and Mario Bava); it looks and feels like a ‘70s horror flick even with the modern technology it boasts; it’s scored by musician Claudio Simonetti, who worked on some of Argento’s films, including his masterpiece Suspiria; and it has an impressive use of the elements of the language of cinema in order to achieve an unsettling, supernatural atmosphere from beginning to end. From a formal point of view, it doesn’t really get much better. Formulaic, yes, but proudly and convincingly so. The storyline in a nutshell: Dante (Luis Machín) is a tailor who suffers from necrophobia, the fear of death and corpses. His mental disorder reaches a peak when his twin brother dies and he can’t help but feel he’s the one lying in the coffin. After all, the two men are physically identical. Dante is seeing his own face, no less. Slowly but firmly, his perception of reality begins to crumble. To top it all off, people around him — acquaintances, friends, loved ones — begin to get killed, one by one. No wonder Dante feels he’s stepped right into the mouth of madness. If you are to assess Necrophobia through its suggestive and creepy mise-en-scene, smart use of the camera, with tilted angles and distorting lenses, to convey a nightmarish universe — or its expressive photography with unbelievably high lights and dark shadows — then Daniel de la Vega’s film is a winner. It’s actually a landmark in local horror cinema. But on the minus side, there are some unmissable flaws. While Machín fits perfectly the physique du role of the troubled tailor, his acting is a bit over the top, and I’m not sure that’s deliberate. Raúl Taibo, Julieta Cardinali, Gerardo Romano and Viviana Saccone strike the right notes in a perfect low profile. That Dante is sort of crazy doesn’t necessarily mean he has to be over-emphatic, almost histrionic at times. As for the screenplay, it runs into some confusing, messy zones that slow down the narrative and make it less gripping. When it gets too subjective and mildly incoherent, Necrofobia loses its grip on the fantastic world it has created. A world that could also have been more impressive if the haunting, carefully composed musical score hadn’t been so overplayed. Some room for dead silence would’ve been a plus. All in all, Necrofobia represents a step in the right direction for a director that made the remarkable Hermanos de sangre. And it’s a worthy entry into a little explored realm too. Production notes Necrofobia (Argentina, 2014). Directed by Daniel de la Vega. Written by Nicanor Loreti, Germán Val, Daniel de la Vega. With Luis Machín, Raúl Taibo, Gerardo Romano, Julieta Cardinali. Cinematography by Mariano Suárez, Daniel de la Vega. Editing: Guille Gatti, Martín Blousson, Daniel de la Vega. Running time: 75 minutes. @pablsuarez Increase font size Decrease font size Size Email article email Print Print Share Share on facebookShare on twitterShare on google_plusone_shareShare on linkedinShare on favoritesShare on google Vote Not interesting Little interesting Interesting Very interesting Indispensable