Fake fortune teller unable to predict own fate The Argentine feature Visiones, written by Nicolás Cisco and directed by Juan De Francesco tells the story of Marta, a middle-aged woman passing herself off as a gypsy fortune teller. She cheats naive women out of their money pretending she’s able to get back the men they love and who left them for other women. The film stars Roxana Randón, Adrián Ero, Kevin Sztajn, Lara Crespo and Julieta Van Lacke, and José Luis Alfonzo. Marta is aided by Esteban, a young and good-looking womanizer who first seduces the women he meets in bars and coffee shops, and then abandons them — but not without first leaving a flyer with the name of the fake fortune teller at their houses. So the women go see Marta, and this is when she dazzles them for good: working with Esteban, she makes them believe she’ll bring their men back. In fact, it’s all a carefully orchestrated mise en scene. But things begin to get ugly when Marta begins to have real visions, and sees Esteban trying to kill her and steal all her money. All right, so it sounds kind of predictable and lacking in originality — it’s a story about a fake fortune teller who begins to have real visions and discover her life is in danger. But if these were the only problems in Visiones, then it wouldn’t be a big deal. After all, many great films have been made out of trite, formulaic premises. But that’s hardly the case here for the problems are found in all aspects of filmmaking, starting from the very, very unconvincing acting — ranging from over the top to simply stiff. On the one hand, you can tell Roxana Randón, who plays Marta, must be a good actress... in another film by another director. On the other hand, the rest of the cast are completely forgettable. More than a film, Visiones may be seen as a very mediocre soap opera shot with no imagination. This film is neither classical nor innovative. It follows conventions as to how to shoot a film, but it follows them in a lousy fashion. You know, you get shot one, then the reverse shot, then back to shot one, then reverse shot again, then back to shot one... almost endlessly. The editing is monotonous, which doesn’t help much. In accordance with this, the cinematography is dull, and the visual design doesn’t convey anything other than what’s plain obvious. Flat would be the best word to describe the overall effect of the film’s aesthetics. However, the huge problems are in the screenplay itself: why would all these women resort to a fortune teller to solve their love problems? And even if they would, would they seek the assistance of a fortune teller who promotes her services on a flyer? As for Esteban, how can he be so effective at leaving and going back to them precisely at the right moment so that the charade is never revealed? We’re talking about people, not pieces of machinery that would do this or that exactly when they have to. There are many other contrivances, including how all these unfortunate women, who meet at the fortune teller’s, refuse to put two and two together. Or take the film’s tone, which starts as a drama, a character study of two delinquents, two bit swindlers that go nowhere. Then it attempts to be some kind of a thriller when the element of suspense is added, which does not work out at all — but for that matter, neither did the drama before. Slowly, it becomes a cautionary tale, and this is on purpose — too bad you couldn’t care less about the characters. And in the end it awfully mutates into a moral tale as it tells the protagonists (and viewers) that ripping people off is not a good thing to do. Oh, well, like I didn’t know that. The funny part is that the only times when the film does have some appeal and breathes fresh air is when it becomes a non intended parody of itself. This is when you see all the potential the filmmakers had and miserably lost.
A crowd pleaser, not much more French writer and director Carine Tardieu’s Du Vent Dans Mes Mollets / Pequeñas diferencias, an adaptation of the novel of the same name by Raphaële Moussafir, who also co-scripted the film, tells the story of Rachel Gladstein (Juliette Gombert), a nine-year-old girl suffocated with love by her Jewish mother, Colette (Agnés Jaouis). Rachel’s father, Michel (Denis Podalydes) is a cheerfully cynical man ,and her grandmother (Judith Magre) is an adorably treacherous woman. Rachel dreams of being loved by her nasty blond teacher, of being accepted into the Barbie Fan Club and becoming the only friend of Marina (Laura Genovino), a classmate whose mother is dead and whose father is an English baron. But now it’s back to school. Rachel sleeps with her schoolbag on and wets her bed. Her mother insists on therapy with Madame Trebla (Isabella Rossellini), a most unusual psychiatrist keen on helping her out. And then there’s Valerie (Anna Lemarchand), another classmate who wants to become Rachel’s best friend — even if it means pestering her non-stop. By now, you’d probably think that the theme of a child growing up and a rocky relationship with her parents has already been tackled too often to be relevant today. What could another film bring to it? Perhaps nothing much. Pequeñas diferencias is not that different from previous films about the same subject. However, since it’s quite accomplished in its own terms, and it has a charming, lightweight approach that makes it very honest, then it’s worth seeing, and even very enjoyable at times. The actors’ fine performances have a lot to do with it. All these thespians are clearly resourceful as to what it means to build nuanced characters, even if the screenplay doesn’t provide them with distinctive traits. The kids are worthy of special mention: they are effective in many scenes thanks to their chemistry, which renders their friendship believable. Some moments with the unusual psychiatrist are also fun to watch. Being a crowd pleaser, Du Vent Dans Mes Mollets aims at viewers’ emotions in a very straightforward manner, and for the most part, it has no missteps. But it’s also true that there are other times when the comedy side is overstated. That’s when you miss the more subtle scenes that speak of the girls’ enchanting childhood world. All in all, Carine Tardieu’s new feature is watchable and, at times, also inspired. Expect a well-executed genre piece and you won’t be disappointed. Just don’t ask for originality.
We are what we eat These last few years saw a string of rather mediocre horror movies, that is leaving aside the works of Rob Zombie, such as the outstanding Lords of Salem (locally unreleased so far); James Wan’s highly inspired Insidious (unfortunately followed by a most awful sequel); or the creative short films anthologies V/H/S and V/H/S/2 — forget Carrie, the inexpressive remake, too. So it should be no surprise how hard it is to find strong shoulders for the horror genre to rest on. One (somewhat) new name that is often overlooked is director Jim Mickle, who first grabbed viewers’ attention with the clever Mulberry Street (2006), which concerns a deadly infection that breaks out in Manhattan, causing humans to devolve into blood-thirsty rat creatures. Then came Stakeland (2010), a compelling take on a vampire epidemic that has swept across the country after years of political and economic disaster. And now Mickle is behind the camera again with We Are What We Are (released locally as Ritual sangriento), a drama, a thriller and a horror film that caused some well deserved stir at this year’s Sundance Film Festival. We Are What We Are tells the story of the Parkers, an apparently wholesome and benevolent family that has always kept to themselves, and for good reason. Behind closed doors, patriarch Frank rules everyday life with a rigorous fervor, determined to preserve his ancestral customs — come what may. As a torrential rainstorm moves into the area, the matriarch of the family has a freak accident and passes away. So daughters Iris and Rose are forced to take up responsibilities that go beyond those of a typical family. Think that the most important task the girls face is putting meat on the table — but not the kind that can be found at the local supermarket. As the unrelenting downpour continues to flood their small town, local authorities begin to uncover clues that bring them closer to the secret that the Parkers have held closely for so many years. We Are What We Are is a remake of the Mexican film of the same name by Jorge Michel Grau, but it comes across as a more realistic and suave version — the original is downright sleazy, and with a pretty outrageous tone. Mickle’s remake noticeably carries along at a slow pace in its first half, so that you adjust to the environment and carefully observe this rural atmosphere and its wildly strange inhabitants. Once you familiarize yourself with the family’s habits as their back-story unravels, the film begins to kick in. This is when you start feeling immersed into an atmosphere where evil lurks waiting to take its toll. Consider this is a film that keeps it leisured pace for its most part, which tends to turn into a tension-building affair. Eventually, the pace picks up in the latter half and you are greeted with a remarkably tense ending, which serves as a pinnacle in conclusions. And here’s one remarkable trait of We Are What We Are: although there’s an element of predictability almost throughout, an edge of unpredictability is highly prevalent during the finale — and many scenes before as well. There are some wicked twists and turns along the way until the conflict hits its marvelous peak. Basically, this is one of those movies that becomes so much better than you’d anticipated thanks to the exceptional manner in which the story wraps up. Expect graphic horror, cannibalism and realistic gore bound to leave you gasping for air. What Mickle films lack in originality in the screenplay (Stakeland and Mulberry Street are also cliché-ridden) is compensated by an overall ominous feeling that conveys true horror. These are the kind of atmospheric horror films that were common in the sixties and seventies, but are now seldom made. Realism is the name of the game here, and so performances are deftly tuned as to make viewers care for the core of drama in the story, not for its ornaments. At the same time, playing the entire scenario deadly straight is some kind of a drawback (just like when Stakeland gets too serious), but the problem is not the realistic approach. It’s the insistence in making it, at times, too solemn. Something else that makes Mickles’ films stand out from the crowd (more so in the case of We Are What We Are) is how atrocious some images are, even if you never get to see all that’s going on (but you do see a lot). Instead of filling the screen with an assortment of crude, gross images left and right, Mickle opts to carefully pick a few ones, say five or six, and places them in ways that catch viewers off guard just when they thought they could relax a bit. An old, noble approach to suspense in horror, but also one that unfortunately doesn’t have as many followers as it should. And though the music isn’t striking and feels fairly bland and generic, which removes potentially greater suspense and eeriness), We Are What We Are will likely stick in your mind because of the unexpected, pulsating intensity that erupts as the it draws to its end. A scenario that’s definitely not for the faint hearted
A loveless paradise under the sun “On Kenya’s beaches they are known as ‘sugar mamas’: European women who seek out African boys selling love to earn a living. Teresa, a 50-year-old Austrian woman, travels to this vacation paradise. Paradise Love tells of older women and young men, of Europe and Africa, and of the exploited, who end up exploiting others.” So festival announcements describe Austrian screenwriter, producer and director Ulrich Seidl’s third feature film, co-written with Veronika Franz, also the first part the Paradise trilogy followed by Paradise Faith (2012) and Paradise Hope (2013), which premiered at the 2012 Cannes Film Festival and was then featured at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2012. Some eight years ago, French director Laurent Cantet (Human Resources, Time Out) released his third feature film, Heading South, which concerned the ups and downs of three middle-aged women and their search of sex and intimacy with Haitian men. Though not nearly as accomplished as Cantet’s mesmerizing previous films, Heading South had a most sensitive and respectful approach to a rather unexplored theme. And it raised some unnerving questions as to the extent ordinary people go to get something they cannot live without: love, no less. But the screenplay was too straightforward, left no room for ambiguities, and most the dialogue sounded rehearsed. Now Austrian director Ulrich Seidl (who became somewhat well known locally with the excruciating and valuable Dog Days) tackles other sides of the same theme, albeit under a different scenario. This time Africa is the territory for sexual tourism conducted by avid women in search of, once again, love. Actually, it’d be more accurate to say women keen on paying for sex and hoping they can trick themselves into believing it is love. Needless to say, love is love — and there are no substitutes. And the women here know that too. Unlike Cantet’s flawed feature, Seidl’s Paradise Love is as riveting as it is compelling. It’s not an easy film to watch, and for a number of reasons; the first one being how bluntly it describes a panorama that admits no romanticizing — even if there are plenty of touches of comedy here and there. It features a handful of daring, yet extremely well pulled off nude scenes that ranger from tender to rough, from erotic to clinical, from embarrassing to cruel — actress Margarete Tiesel undergoes a true tour de force, her obese body often on display and yet never rendered obscene. For that matter, she excels throughout the entire film, be it nude or not. She truly embodies Teresa in a heartfelt, profound fashion. Paradise Love is about the quest for love, but in the end all that can be portrayed is the absence of love. It’s sympathetic to its characters, it never judges them, and it gives them credit for who they are. At the same time, it offers no answers, no solutions, and is definitively not hopeful. However, there’s not a single blow below the belt, which makes it all the more thought-provoking. It tells the story of Teresa, a middle-aged single mother who lives in Austria with her adolescent daughter. She is looking for the love she can’t find in her native country (even if she pretends she’s just looking for fun), and so goes on vacation to Kenya with three friends. There are many young men to choose from in East Africa, but in her search for one she can care for she is bothered to the point of harassment. Everyone wants to sell something to her. She thinks she can venture into paying for sex, have a good time, and then leave it at that. But not many things turn out as she thought they would. And that’s when her ordeal begins: when she exposes herself, becomes vulnerable, and gets hurt time and again. No wonder her disillusionment and bitterness in the end. Actually, that’s one of the reasons why Paradise Love is such an unsettlingly realistic film. Because its characters are truly nuanced, with real actions and reactions, and even more real feelings. Since this type of sentimental prostitution is agreed by both sides, you are asked to see the entire affair from their respective points of views. And in this context, everybody has its reasons, and their reasons do make sense, all of them. Paradise Love is not about being guilty or innocent for those words fortunately do not apply in this film — there is no simplism to be found here. It’s about exploitation, yes, but the kind of exploitation that benefits and hurts both sides — but the truth is that it actually hurts way more than it benefits. It about turning individuals into objects, time and again, until objects don’t even want to be objects anymore. It’s also about seeing yourself as an object, not only about seeing others as such. That’s why it’s more really more complex than what you may have thought at first glance. In addition, it’s brilliantly filmed. Scenes are shot mostly in static long takes with a very appealing cinematography and sense of space that eschews all traces of the picturesque, and instead asks from viewers to contemplate and immerse themselves into a canvas of changing colours that reveals more and more layers as it’s painstakingly drawn out.
Love on screen, as dumb as it comes Life is not what it used to be for William Borgens (Greg Kinnear), a successful writer who’s had several books published and found some small celebrity status, but hasn’t written at all since his gorgeous wife Erica (Jennifer Connelly) left him for a younger man three years earlier. In fact, William spends many of his nights spying on Erica and her new husband. Moreover, he still puts a place for his ex-wife at the dinner table hoping she’d return without giving any notice. As for his afternoons, he has secret rendez-vous with Tricia (Kristen Bell), a younger and married neighbour woman. He’s taught his teenage kids, Samantha (Lilly Collins) and Rusty (Nat Wolff), to be writers almost since they were newborns, and Samantha has just had her first book published. But she won’t share the news with her mother — with whom she hasn’t talked in years because she blames her for the divorce. She’s also sceptical about love and just has casual sex. That is until she meets Lou (Logan Lerman) a musician and classmate who has a crush on her. As for her younger brother, let’s say he’s a hopeless romantic and has fallen for Kate (Liana Liberato), a classmate of his at school with a drug problem. So now the question is whether or not love will mend these aching hearts. The characters in the romantic comedy-drama Stuck in Love, written and directed by Josh Boone, are indeed stuck, but not so much in love as in contrived stereotypes, dumb clichés and even dumber happy endings. The more they attempt to come across as real people with real problems involving matters of the heart, the more they ring false. They act out situations written in the script, but these situations don’t stem out of the storyline in a natural, credible fashion. Take Rusty, whom upon meeting Kate decides he’ll save her from her drug addiction. How can he think that when he barely knows her? How’s he exactly going to do it? Why would she let him do? Or take Mr. Borgens, an obsessive, yet cool father who gives his kids a monthly allowance to write instead of having them work at the local Mc Donald’s. Why would anyone become a professional writer this way? Why would a father who’s a successful writer do something like this? Incidentally, there’s a secret reason why Mr. Borgens is so keen on waiting for his wife to come back, which if revealed to Kate (who had discovered mum having sex with another man) would make her stop hating her. So why would a caring father allow her daughter to endure unnecessary pain? These are some of the queries that a movie about real people would pose, and which Stuck in Love opts not to take into account. More annoying is what happens to Lou, whose mother dies from a brain tumour precisely when he was having the best of times with his new girlfriend. Why did he have to have a mother with a brain tumour in the first place? The bond between mother and son is not developed — at all. Let’s just say it all boils down to the fact that she doesn’t even amount to a poorly sketched character. She’s in the movie only for dying purposes. Of course, this is not an Ingmar Bergman drama so we’re not talking about having fully fleshed out characters rooted in their complexities and contradictions. But even for being a light weighted romantic comedy drama, meaning a very respectable genre which mainstream US cinema has explored fruitfully endless times, Stuck in Love ranks below average. Comedy has to be taken seriously, so it should be of no surprise that the most elementary problems regarding the characters are also to be found when it comes to the dramatic structure of the film. Think of a little inspired television movie in which conflicts are arbitrarily established, only to then be solved miraculously in a matter of minutes. Think of a series of interconnected scenes with no imagination whatsoever that never add up to a strong storyline. Think of dialogue that’s only heard at the (bad) movies. Think of a family movie in which love mends all aching hearts, despite how terribly sick they were before. And then there are the actors, who for the most part are good enough to be in another movie. For instance, Greg Kinnear, who’s shown his talent for comedy and drama too many times before. Jennifer Connelly still looks stunning, and even if she’s not a very good actress, she could do much better than this. Or the young ones, Lilly Collins, Nat Wolff, Logan Lerman and Liana Liberato, who may not be the best thespians ever, yet you can see they do have some talent and vivacious energy that a good director could use to the advantage of a fine feature. Stuck in Love is the type of film that gives romantic comedy, and cinema in general, a bad name.
Cold-blooded political thriller needs more heat Venezuelan filmmaker Joel Novoa Schneider’s debut film Esclavo de Dios (God’s Slave) is a fictional account based on a most painful event that took place in Buenos Aires on July 18 1994: the AMIA bombing (Argentine Israelite Mutual Association), which killed 85 people and injured hundreds. Within the mould of a police thriller, Novoa Schneider’s opus tells the story of Ahmed Al Hassama (Mohammed Al Khaldi), an Islamic fundamentalist waiting for the right time to carry out his mission, meaning to serve Allah in whatever terrorist attack he’s called to take part in. On the other side, there’s David Goldberg (Vando Villamil), a cold-blooded resourceful Mossad agent in Buenos Aires. Despite belonging to a legitimate agency, David shares a common trait with Ahmed: he’s also an extremist and stops at nothing to get what he wants. So, you could say that Esclavo de Dios is mainly about these two men and what they represent as their paths cross while being on opposite sides of the conflict. It’s easy to see that this premise can give way to a fairly decent mainstream thriller, if not a truly good one with an incisive political edge. But for that it is necessary to have three things Esclavo de Dios lacks: well sustained tension and suspense, deftly executed action sequences, and somewhat fleshed out characters. This is not to say that Novoa Schneider’s debut film is a disaster, because it is not. In fact, it starts out with an appealing set up of the scenario and it leads you to think the best is yet to come. It’s a tidily shot feature anchored in a slightly seductive camerawork, effective sound design, and more than proper cinematography. It’s also tightly edited. In terms of technique, there’s no real need to worry. Yet what matters the most is missing from the picture. Tension is a must in this type of films, and there’s none here. For instance, take the sequences involving the bombing, or those where the agents track down the perpetrators as they try to avoid another bombing. Incidentally, the bombing itself is represented off-screen, which is a wise decision. But it’s so poorly done that you’d think you’re witnessing the consequences of a car wreck instead of the aftermath of a tragedy. It’s clear the film is not about the bombing, but if the filmmaker opts to include it (be it off-screen or not), then the depiction has to be compelling. You can’t expect viewers to be on the edge of their seats watching a suspense-less thriller or one devoid of impact. Then there are the characters, too underwritten even if they don’t come across as complete stereotypes. Granted, they perform the actions the script provides them with, and they do so correctly. They look pretty much implicated into what their characters do, but this is mostly due to the actors’ expertise — but actors can only do so much. Or take Ahmed’s wife and child, the reasons for Ahmed’s change of mind towards the end, and yet they almost utter no words throughout the film and have no personality whatsoever. Call it lax screenwriting and you’ll be dead right. As for the action sequences, they are just clumsy and hence awkward looking. There’s a chase through rooftops early in the film that, to a certain extent, pays off. So I expected to see more of that, perhaps more gripping ones too. Fat chance. I think the worst one is the shootout right before the ending. Which goes hand in hand with the dramatic and ideological nature of the ending itself, as naive and unbelievable as it gets. I mean, a racist doesn’t turn into a humanist overnight and fundamentalists don’t become moderate fellows just because they’ve realized they’ve caused too much pain and may cause so much more. In a sense, it reminded me of the hopeful but little credible ending of The Other Son, a recently released feature that deals with the Arab-Israel conflict in a similarly simplistic manner. Esclavo de Dios is unbiased, condemns violence and cries out for reconciliation. A great thing to do, no doubt. But it does it in a contrived manner since it leaves out all the complexities and all contradictory subjectivities of the protagonists — and what they represent, of course. In the end, it only amounts to an awfully flawed attempt in genre cinema — despite its lofty ambitions. @PablSuarez
The Other Son offers a simplistic take on a complex affair Joseph (Jules Sitruk) is a young teen who, though having a penchant for music, decides he wants to join the Israeli air force. As part of the required procedure, he submits to a blood test which shows that he was switched at birth by mistake (the hospital was a war zone at the time of his birth). Joseph’s father, Alon (Pascal Elbe), an army-commander, is blown away by the news, while his mother, Orith (Emmanuelle Devos) is profoundly moved, but doesn’t feel a catastrophe has been unleashed. She actually takes the time to look for Joseph’s biological parents, Said (Khalifa Natour) and Leila (Areen Omari), who are Palestinians and have raised Orith’s biological son, Yacine (Medhi Dehbi). Needless to say, they are also completely unaware of his son’s real identity. After some conversations and discussions, parents and children meet. From here, new stories are to be written. Lorraine Lévy's Les fils de l'autre (The Other Son) tackles the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from a somewhat novel perspective, and does quite a good job at laying out the essentials and some of its ramifications. It builds up emphatic, believable characters and downplays all possible melodrama. Instead, it goes for a description of the state of things and an exploration of the many subjectivities involved as it draws a sensible portrayal of how each member of the two families reacts to the news. Therefore, expect a good exposure of issues related to cultural identity and displacement, with their respective political and social implications. Religion is also a key issue, of course. As far as setting up the conflict and developing its first steps, The other son is both sensible and believable. It even achieves a degree of sustained tension that makes the entire affair all the more compelling. However, halfway through the film (and almost until the end), the complex scenario kind of vanishes and a sense of “things don't have to be that complicated” enters the scene. Better said, The other son seems to say that even if things are complicated, people can still make a difference if they really strive hard, largely thanks to love and the importance of affections. Which is a very nice notion that applies in many contexts, but the reality of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is not what it is simply because of a lack of love. And it won’t be solved thanks to good will. So when it comes to the scenes involving the most personal consequences of switching the babies at birth, let’s say the nonpolitical aspects, Lévy’s film hits the right notes: you believe what’s happening to the characters, you care for them, and an overall sense of narrative verisimilitude is ensured. This is due not only the proper scripting of the early and middle part of the film, but also to the fine performances from the entire cast. You feel close to the characters and their plea. But sometimes not even good performances redeem a scene for being farfetched and unwillingly manipulative (like when Josephs breaks into a song at the dinner table when visiting Said and Leila and is joyfully joined in by his newfound family). In opposition, when grand ideas about the ideological sides of the conflict are talked about, the film becomes simplistic and naive — at best. And this is when you realize that a potentially rich story has been turned into a canvas with few colours and even fewer nuances. In other words: The other son becomes smaller and smaller as it unfolds, and by the time it’s over, there’s almost nothing of what made it exist in the first place.
New families, new questions “I’m 34 years old and the same sex marriage law has been passed,” says Argentine filmmaker Maximiliano Pelosi right at the beginning of Una familia gay (A Gay Family), his new documentary focused on what getting legally married can really mean for a member of the LGBT (Lesbian, Gaby, Bisexual, and Transgender) community today in Argentina. As any documentarian would do, Pelosi starts by asking himself some new questions: does he really want to marry his boyfriend with whom he’s been living for five years now? What if the institution of same sex marriage is only replicating the errors of an entire society that has historically discriminated homosexuals? What should the real reasons for getting married be? How about same sex couples having or adopting kids? And this is only the tip of the iceberg. Pelosi effortlessly conducts his own, personal investigation as he interviews friends, relatives, acquaintances, public figures from the LGBT community, and even a priest from the Catholic school he attended as a boy. And they simply and candidly talk about fidelity, rituals, responsibilities, law, expectations, sex, in vitro fertilization, bonds, threesomes, monogamy, agreements, friendship, acceptance, rejection, diversity and, of course, true love. Actually, the many topics addressed and how casually they are addressed are two undeniable assets of Una familia gay. This way, viewers get engaged in a much-welcomed, nonpretentious manner as they become aware of or get more familiar with things that do matter. These are issues that draw as much visibility as possible since they are, precisely, topics that have created strong debates and managed to create a better and fairer society for all. Pelosi is even smart enough to add some humour here and there, as to avoid a too serious approach that would be a turn off. What’s most striking is seeing how honest and heartfelt the director's gaze upon his material is. If I had to choose a most powerful, and also touching part of the film, I think it would be towards the end when César Cigliutti and Marcelo Suntheim, the president of the Argentine Gay Community (CHA), and his longtime partner speak about the kind of protection the same sex marriage law provides in case one the spouses dies. To be more precise, Cigliutti recalls how the scenario was for Carlos Jaúregui, the first president of the CHA, who had AIDS, when his partner died of AIDS and Jaúregui was evicted from the place where they’d had been living together for years. Jaúregui, a tireless and key gay activist, spent his last days in Cigliutti’s home until he died of AIDS in 1996. For those who knew Carlos, remembering him like César and Marcelo do is the best homage he would have wanted (as trite as it sounds). Most important, the fact that what happened to him can’t legally happen again to anyone now, is what his tireless activism, and that of many others after him, has finally achieved, once and for all. As far as documents go, Una familia gay is, in many ways, essential. Yet there’s a downside: cinematically, it’s not nearly that accomplished. The reenactments, for instance, don’t look as natural as needed, but rather a bit staged for the camera. The mise en scene, also, is sort of precarious and quite inexpressive. Even some of the interviews could use a more profound outlook, instead of being only informative. So what could have been a compelling piece of work, is somewhat diminished by the limitations in its film form. It’s easy to see that a film like Una familia gay, with all its flaws, speaks of a determined and defiant director who knows not only what the current agenda in equal legal rights is all about, but also how to get people to talk more about it.
Chinese mobsters breed mutated rabbits Ana (Haien Qiu) is Chinese, but not entirely. She doesn’t speak the language of her fellow countrymen but her features allow her to move comfortably inside Chinatown in Buenos Aires. She works for the City Government, and is in charge of granting legal permits for the opening of buildings, stores and lounges provided all safety and sanitary requirements are properly met. One ordinary day, she refuses to issue a permit for a dubious affair. As a result, she’s pursued by Chinese local mobsters who are involved in labour exploitation of Asian immigrants. So she escapes to her country home in a small town in Buenos Aires province, and finds out that almost everybody has abandoned the place long ago. It so happens that there’s a plague of genetically mutated, carnivorous rabbits that have first devoured the crops, then moved on to the cattle at large. Enter the Chinese mob again. Determined to kill Ana for discovering their link with the crazed rabbits (who else could it be?), they head straight to her country house. Luckily for her, Ana doesn’t stand alone as a few remaining fellows come to her rescue at once. As you can see from the storyline, Mujer conejo (Rabbit Woman), written and directed by Argentine filmmaker Verónica Chen, is not exactly what you’d call an easy film to make. Its premise is kind of preposterous, but if not taken that seriously and embracing the bizarre scenario, it could work out. The thing is, it needs the right tone, and a smart but playful crossbreeding of genres. The problem is that none of that is to be found in Mujer conejo, a feature that strives hard to be different, and yet ends up rather trite. What starts off as a drama — peppered with an underwritten sentimental liaison — never gets to be compelling enough for viewers to care about the characters; it then attempts to become a mafia thriller, but it lacks tension and an atmosphere of danger; when the mutated rabbits show up, it’s meant to slide into a horror movie, but there’s nothing creepy about it; and by the time it ends, the Western showdown is both risible and badly shot. Add to that some animated scenes interspersed with real takes, with no justified dramatic criterion whatsoever. As for the actors (Haien Qui, Luciano Cáceres, Gloria Carrá, Héctor Díaz, and Daniel Valenzuela), let’s say their performances are of not much help since their characters are way underdeveloped. You can see they’re doing their best, yet best intentions can only go so far. However, there are a couple of good things about Chen’s film: its cinematography and the editing. For the most part, the camera is well paced and does capture the colour of the places as well as the actors’ expressions and gestures. And the editing ensures the rhythm is well balanced, and hence never drags. Come to think of it, the sound design also builds some kind of an oppressive ambiance. But what matters the most, meaning the narrative, is awfully flawed.
Trite love affair thrives on clichés Marc Maronnier (Gaspard Proust) is a young literary critic whose wife has filed for divorce. Soon, he’s a single man again. He tries to keep his spirits up, but it’s not an easy task considering he didn’t want the separation in the first place. Things start looking up when he meets stunning, lively Alice (Louise Bourgoin) at his grandmother’s funeral. The catch is that she’s engaged to another man, none other than Marc’s cousin (Nicolas Bedos). However, neither Marc nor Alice seem to see that as a problem: they embark on a love affair. The real problem is that Marc is the author of a recently published best seller called Love Lasts Three Years, even if he wrote it under a pseudonym. A book that Alice happens to find both misogynistic and adolescent — the work of a skeptic who has never experienced true love. But some secrets can’t be kept forever: soon or later, all hell is going to break loose. French writer-turned-filmmaker Frederic Beigbeder’s Love Lasts Three Years (L’Amour dure trois ans) attempts to be a romantic story with a dose of drama and some humour. It tries to be engaging and sharp. It wants to stand out from the crowd. But the truth is that it doesn’t fulfill any of its aspirations (not by a long shot), and instead turns out to be trite and predictable. Love Lasts Three Years follows the mould of US mainstream dramatic comedies, but it does it all wrong. For starters, some performances are too rehearsed, and so all possible cheerfulness vanishes as soon as the actors enter the scene. Other times, they are simply as generic as they come. In any case, they fail to elicit any empathy and identification from viewers. Then there’s the dialogue, which may ring true here and there, but for the most part it’s not as natural and colloquial as it pretends to be. Likewise, forget to find witty one-liners — which, incidentally, are a must in a well written dramatic comedy. But what’s most inexcusable is that the entire film is derivative of so many other features that you get the feeling you’re watching a series of scenes where commonplace is the sole protagonist. And we’re not talking about paying homage. No wonder there’s no fun at all: you are likely to experience indifference and boredom. It’s not even the kind of film that is so bad it becomes entertaining. The very uninspired and flat mise-en-scène doesn’t say anything about the characters and their environment. Love Lasts Three Years is simply mediocre, from the first frame to the last.