POINTS 8 Previously featured in the Argentine competition of this year’s BAFICI, Tae Kwon Do is the first film written, directed and edited by Marco Berger (Plan B, Ausente, Hawai, Mariposa) and co-directed with Martín Farina (Fullboy, which, in turn, was co-edited with Berger), who also handles the photography here. Here and abroad, Berger is deservedly well-known for films that have explored the nature of desire at large. Even more to the point, gay and homoerotic bonds with a distinctive eye and a special emphasis on the beauty of male bodies. So it’s deeply satisfying to see that their first joint effort (or second, if you take Fullboy as the first one) is an accomplished feature — particularly in its film form — within a realm that has very few local canons. An ultra indie feature shot in nine days, Tae Kwon Do concerns a small group of friends who gather to spend some days together at a summer house in the outskirts of Buenos Aires. All of them are masculine youngsters of natural good looks and muscular, toned bodies, with defining singular traits. They’re not what you’d call Hollywood models; instead, they are far more interesting individuals. For these guys do boast the type of spontaneous beauty rightly associated of the vitality of youth, but also that of those who have a relaxed attitude about how they talk, look and move. In short: they are perfectly comfortable with who they are — which doesn’t mean everything about them is out in the open. One of them, Germán (Gabriel Epstein), is absolutely gorgeous and has a crush on Fernando (Lucas Papa), the owner of the house, who seems aware of it and inconspicuously stares with deep desire into his eyes. Germán stares back every now and then while he discreetly hides the fact that he’s gay. For all we know, Fernando is supposed to be straight, just like the rest of his friends. Maybe they are, maybe they are not. That remains to be seen. One thing is for sure: some glances can sometimes be far too revealing. Of course, there are some jokes about what boys do when they’re all by themselves, about being gay or not, macho comments about girlfriends and women at large, dialogue filled with double entendre, mischievous looks, and, above all, a fair dose of physical contact typical of male bonding. For the most part, all these guys do is engage into an array of assorted conversations as they rest by the pool, drink, and smoke lots of weed. Throughout these summer days at the country house, Germán wonders if his desire for Fernando will be requited and fulfilled. For there’s sure more than meets the eye at first sight. Berger observes and cares for the trajectory desire draws until it finds its object, on how it usually spins around for quite some time, and then it finally makes the connection that will lead to make things happen. What is very appealing is how he can show you all the previous days, hours or minutes and how momentum is gained. By the time a kiss takes place, it’s all been said already. Overall, the whole scenario looks and sound spontaneous, authentic and devoid of any artificiality — which is a very hard thing to do, but Berger has shown a knack for coaching his actors ever since Plan B, his first feature. So it’s great to see that once again the actors’ performances translate into good ensemble acting. It’s not hard to believe that these are true friends. Equally important is the colloquial dialogue and, needless to say, the effective body language. As regards cinematography, Farina films these guys always stressing their beauty and their masculinity with an unobtrusive, subtle camera that frames them in their graceful, and apparently casual, movements and poses. He’d already shown a gifted eye for subtleties in Fullboy, his documentary about the behind the scenes of an Argentine professional soccer team. In Tae Kwon Do, his gaze up and close gaze focuses on their half-naked or downright naked bodies revealed in full splendour - expect tastefully rendered shots of thighs, butts, and bulges. At times, the film’s minimalistic narrative may feel too minimal, yet if you pay close attention, you’d soon realize it’s all a matter of reading in between the shots, so to speak. Be it minor or major, something is always happening. Light weighted in a good way and unpretentious, Tae Kwon Do is a refreshing, engaging story where boys will fall for boys. Production notes Tae Kwon Do (Argentina, 2016) Directed by Marco Berger y Martín Farina. Written by Marco Berger. Cinematography: Martín Farina. Editing: Marco Berger. Music: Pedro Irusta. Sound: Tomás Sánchez. Running time: 107 minutes. Limited release: Gaumont. @pablsuarez
Italian director Valerio Ruiz pays moving tribute to revolutionary Lina Wertmüller POINTS 8 Average documentaries on famous artists are, more often than not, mostly didactic as they merely go over their oeuvre and provide a good deal of information so that you get to know the basics. Good documentaries go a step further since they provide quite a detailed background, pay attention to more specific, relevant aspects of their persona and works, and sometimes even cast some sort of a personal gaze upon the artist. And then you have very good documentaries that not only manage to achieve all the above at once, but also shine a shimmering spotlight on unknown traits that make their subject one of a kind. In addition, they are accomplished cinematic pieces that have a personal way of caring for the artist portrayed. Written and directed by Italian Valerio Ruiz, Behind the White Glasses is more than a fine example of the latter category. It stands out from the crowd not only because of its multifaceted subject, but also because of its spontaneous approach. It’s a pleasure to watch and a moving homage to the artist it’s devoted to. Featured at last year’s Venice Film Festival, it’s about none other than the revolutionary Lina Wertmüller, the first woman in the world to receive a nomination for the Academy Award as best director for her cinematic masterpiece, the mind-blowing Seven Beauties (Pasqualino Settebellezze, 1975). Before that, she’d helmed the groundbreaking Mimì metallurgico (1972), then the passionate Love and Anarchy (1973), and soon after the torrid Swept Away (1974). Broadly speaking, you could say that Ruiz’s feature is a chronicle of the highlights in Wertmuller’s life and career. One that includes interviews with artists who worked with her in many regards, such as actors Harvey Keitel, Giancarlo Giannini, Sophia Loren, Nastassja Kinski, Rutger Hauer, singer Rita Pavone, and film critic John Simon — among others. It also features a string of scenes from some of her most celebrated movies, never-seen-before archive material and photos taken in Cinecittà when she was Federico Fellini’s assistant director in 8 1/2, as well as songs written by Wertmüller. Yet Behind the White Glasses is more than the sum of its parts. Because what matters the most in an auteur documentary is how the documentary maker achieves a certain personal feeling, an air of familiarity to invest their object of desire with. And Valerio Ruiz, who was Wertmüller’s assistant director and very close collaborator, seems to feel so much affection for her that he can effortlessly bring the best out of her reminiscences, idiosyncrasy, joie de vivre, and sense of irony and grotesque — and not by resorting to broad strokes, but to details that speak volumes. A wise woman who says she never bought the whole affair of being successful because failure can also be a great professor that encourages you to do better next time, Lina Wertmüller doesn’t strike a pose like many divas would. Such down-to-earth attitude and connection with reality is perfectly exposed in many snippets of Ruiz’s lucid interviews. Not that he’s after building the portrayal of a woman with no flaws for he’s certainly not. After all, Wertmüller’s stubbornness and occasional explosive temper is also more than hinted at. Now in her 80s and as vital as though she were in her 30s, and after having worked in the realms of cinema, TV, and music, with more than 30 features under her belt, the greatest female film director ever has her mind set on making new films — you can even see a script for Swept Away Again among her papers, while she’s typing. In the meantime, you can also see again the ones you like the most or discover the ones you haven’t seen yet. For creating the desire in viewers to do so is another merit to credit Behind the White Glasses with. Production notes Detrás de los anteojos blancos / Behind the White Glasses (Italy, 2015). Written, directed, and produced by Valerio Ruiz. Music: Lucio Gregoretti. Cinematography: Giuseppe Pignone. Editing: Pierluigi Leonardi. Production design: Virginia Vianello. Running time: 112 minutes. Limited release : Bama Cine Arte - Atlas Patio Bullrich - Arte Multiplex - Belgrano Multiplex - Arteplex Del Parque. @pablsuarez
Heartfelt and accomplished local period-piece film meets the expectations it arouses Points: 6 Set during World War II, out in the pampas, the Argentine-Brazilian co-production Dolores, written by Roberto Scheuer and directed by Juan Dickinson (Un día en Constitución, Destino anunciado) tells the story of a young, good-looking, and determined Scottish woman (Emilia Attias), who returns to her family ranch in Argentina after the death of her sister. She’s mainly set to take care of her eight-year-old nephew Harry (Felipe Flossdorf), but will also help her brother-in-law Jack (Guillermo Pfening), who’s sinking deep into melancholy as he grieves his wife’s death. At first, it’s not easy for Dolores to get along with Jack’s sister, Florrie (Mara Bestelli), who’s somewhat jealous and weary of having a new woman in the house. All the more so because Dolores is so attractive. On the other hand, Harry will be actually welcoming and it won’t take that long for Jack to start feeling better. And when everybody least expects it and in secrecy, an old flame between Dolores and Jack will be rekindled. But when financial difficulties that translate into having to sell the ranch arise, all members of the household will have yet more hardships to endure. Plus the appearance of Octavio Brand (Roberto Birindelli), a rich German-Argentine rancher who not so secretly begins to court Dolores, will also trigger unforeseen, difficult circumstances. Dolores begins with a flashback from Harry’s point of view as a young man (played by Mateo Flossdorf), who, after going over an old photo album, starts reminiscing about the long-gone days of his childhood at the pampas ranch. And, once the flashback is over, it ends with yet another family photo that may come as a metaphor for part of the drama that took place in between. Such tidy opening and closure are more than appropriate to tell a romantic and dramatic story of love and loss with tints of melodrama, within the mould of a period piece. But what first strikes you the most about Dolores are the accomplished production values that make it look and sound perfectly credible. No wonder: seasoned cinematographer Miguel Abal (Taxi, un encuentro, La mosca en la ceniza, Violeta se fue a los cielos) beautifully creates the most alluring atmosphere for every scene, always in tune with their emotional edge. Being a torrid love story, Dolores breathes an air of feelings, perfectly accounted for through rich and saturated shades. In turn, renowned sound designer Martín Grignaschi (El color que cayó del cielo, Un novio para mi mujer, Lluvia) immerses viewers into a realm filled with noises and sounds that are not only rightly functional for the story, but above all, they punctuate its dramatic highlights and many turning-points. Overall, the narrative is fairly well-developed, though it’s only fair to point out that at times it’s a bit too sluggish whereas other times some events happen too abruptly — Frank’s departure to the war feels a bit out of the blue. This slight unevenness does occasionally hamper the otherwise right tempo. Moreover, some characters seem more nuanced than others — for instance, Florrie and Octavio — and not all actors find the same spontaneity throughout the whole movie. Attias and Pfening do have many moments where they excel, yet there are others when their performances feel too rehearsed. Mara Bestelli and Roberto Birindelli don’t need to resort to grand gestures to effortlessly stand out. Dolores is surely not a perfect feature, but it’s one that does meet quite a few of the expectations it arouses, it’s an improvement over the filmmaker’s previous outings, and most of all it’s a heartfelt, affective love story with a colour of its own. Production notes Dolores (Argentina/Brazil, 2016). Directed by Juan Dickinson. Written by Roberto Scheuer. With Emilia Attias, Guillermo Pfening, Mara Bestelli, Roberto Birindelli, Jandir Felipe Flossdorf, Mateo Flossdorf. Cinematography: Miguel Abal. Editing: Cesar Custodio. Running time: 98 minutes.
Award-winning documentary offers piercing portrayal of life on Italian island of Lampedusa Points: 7 “Foucoammare bears witness to a tragedy that is unfolding right before our eyes. I think we are all responsible for that tragedy. Perhaps after the Holocaust, it is one of the greatest tragedies the world has seen,” said Italian director Gianfranco Rosi (Sacro G.R.A.) at a press conference following the screening of his new documentary Fuocoammare (“Fire at Sea”) at this year’s Berlinale, where he won the coveted Golden Bear award. The tragedy Rosi speaks about is the one endured, time and again, by African and Middle Eastern migrants who flee their homeland out of extreme necessity and then put their lives at risk while travelling on precariously overloaded boats as they try to reach mainland Europe. Though there are rescue teams that often come to their aid, nobody can prevent the loss of thousands of lives of children, women and men while travelling or upon arrival. Given the magnitude of the catastrophe and the visibility it has gained in the media throughout these last years, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the jury of the Berlin Film Festival has given its top prize to Rosi’s feature, very likely more because of its political weight than because of its strictly cinematic assets. But don’t get me wrong: Fuocoammare really is an impeccably filmed documentary with a handful of harrowing scenes, and yet it’s also disappointing in some regards. So if you expect no masterpiece, you’ll enjoy it more. To be exact, Fuocoammare targets its sharp gaze on the fate of refugees — mostly Africans, some Syrians — who, on a weekly basis, try to get to the shores of the small Sicilian island of Lampedusa, while the Italian coast guards rescue as many survivors as they can. This is the case that represents the universal scope of the tragedy. On the other hand, Rosi focuses on the everyday life of the residents of the island, mainly young Samuele, a fisherman’s son, and Pietro Bartolo, the only medical doctor on Lampedusa, who said at the Berlinale that he’s been interviewed by almost all TV channels around the world about the refugee crisis he’d been witnessing for far too long now. He’s the man in charge of dealing with the arrival of the refugees, which means facing illnesses, deaths, and grief as up and close as it gets. As for Samuele, you see him playing with a friend, practising with his slingshot, trying to cope with dizziness while on his father’s boat, and shooting an imaginary gun. There are also his regular visits to doctors because of his lazy eye and some breathing difficulties which may be anxiety-related. While Rosi alternates scenes from rescue operations with those from villagers’ life in Lampedusa, he doesn’t have his characters interact at all. They don’t share any screen time and, moreover, they seem totally unaware of each other’s existence. With the exception of one scene where an Italian woman listens to the news on the radio about the migrants’ lives lost in a recent arrival (and she despairingly utters: “poor souls!”) the relations to be drawn between the two realities never seem clear enough. Perhaps the implied idea is that, while these two groups of people — islanders and refugees — do eventually share a common land, the fact of the matter is that they don’t belong together, as the current policies of some European nations are expulsive rather than inclusive or welcoming. If that’s the case, it’s way too subtle to resonate strongly. You could also say that the sea itself can have different meanings for the two groups: danger and death for the migrants, food and life for the villagers. So if that’s the reason for the contrast, then it’s a bit too obvious and doesn’t add much to the overall picture. Likewise, it’s never clear what notions are to be associated with the medical conditions of 12-year-old Samuele or to his compulsive shooting of an imaginary gun. Is it that his body is taking notice of the crisis surrounding him? Is there some damaging repressed angst? If that’s the case, then it’s far too broad to be compelling. And it can be quite distractive. On the plus side, the images from the scenes depicting the arrival and rescue of the refugees alongside with the testimony from Dr Bartolo are as emotionally and aesthetically powerful as they come. They’ve been shot with a humanistic eye and with not a single blow below the belt. Though it’s also true that some close-ups and wide shots are too touching and distressing to be tolerated for more than a few seconds. But thanks to the right editing, they only last those few seconds. With not a hint of a patronizing outlook, this is how Rosi exposes a grim reality that will linger in your memory for a long time. Production notes Fuocoammare (“Fire at Sea” / Italy, 2016). Written and directed by Gianfranco Rosi. Cinematography: Gianfranco Rosi. Editing: Jacopo Quadri. Running time: 108 minutes. @pablsuarez
First-time filmmaker delves into Argentina’s top ventriloquist act to deliver fascinating glimpse Points: 8 “Remember that you don’t get to call me ‘dummy,’ not even you believe that,” says Chirolita, the dummy, to Mr Chasman, the ventriloquist, at the beginning of ¿Dónde estás, Negro?, the amazingly rich debut feature by documentary filmmaker Alejandro Maly, previously screened at this year’s BAFICI. Chirolita claims he’s no longer a dummy because once Chasman bought him, he felt for the first time ever that he was starting to live. He says Mr Chasman — or plainly Chasman — filled him with feelings and gave him the soul he wanted. And Chirolita should know. Together with Chasman (whose real name was Ricardo Gamero), they were the most important ventriloquist-dummy act in Argentina, and surely one of the best worldwide. Chasman’s sheer talent was simply uncanny: he would light up and smoke a cigarette while carrying the wittiest conversations with Chirolita — and that alone is unheard of. He’d say that what mattered in telling a joke was not really how funny the joke was, but how it was delivered. In his case, the jokes themselves were as good as they come, with the right punch line at the right time. Narrated with admirable precision, with an agile tempo and an alluring sense of nostalgia, ¿Dónde estás, Negro? is conveniently split into three parts, the first one called “Chasman and Chirolita.” So for starters, you’ll get familiar with the duet’s career from their early shows in the 1960s at Parque Retiro — a bizarre place filled with magicians, flame throwers, fakirs, and freaks — to their debut at the Paladium, then from the peak of their success in the 70s, with his own TV show El mundo de Chirolita, to their appearances in many variety shows on Corrientes Avenue with famous comedians, entertainers, and divas — and much more. Finally, there came a long period of unemployment until they fell into oblivion in the late 80s. Unlike the terrifying dummies often featured in horror films — think of Hugo, from Dead of Night (1945), or Fats, from Magic (1978) — Chirolita was charming and friendly, polite and impertinent at once. And also cute in his own peculiar way. As though they were identical twins, Chasman and Chirolita always dressed exactly alike, and Chasman talked and prayed to Chirolita before and after every show. Among other things, Chasman was a well-learned, respected and respectful man who always led a very private, rather mysterious personal life. After a 46-year career, he passed away on May 20, 1999, in Buenos Aires. As for Chirolita, his true destiny is unknown: some say Chasman’s son keeps the dummy in a safety deposit box in a bank, whereas legendary TV host Silvio Soldán — who wrote the songs the duet recorded in two albums — dares to venture he may be buried alongside the ventriloquist. So, in the first part, you have lots of relevant archive material — old photographs, TV clips of bygone times, magazines spreads, recordings) together with candid and smartly conducted interviews with those who knew Chasman up and close. Among them, his friend Marcelo Benetti, arguably the best ventriloquist of Latin America, with his black dummy Cirilo, or the F/X artist Natan Solans. Then, the second part, entitled “Ventriloquists,” gathers a number of today’s most important figures, many of whom get together at the Circle of Argentine Ventriloquists (CIVEAR). And what a bunch of extraordinary people they are. There’s a succinct, yet useful portrayal of the late Emilio Dilmer, a highly celebrated pioneer, and his dummies Venancio and Gregorio. And there’s an incredibly touching scene featuring Dilmer’s grown up daughter in a long-awaited reunion that borders the surreal. Among others, there’s renowned magician, ventriloquist, and CIVEAR president Miguel Ángel Lembo and his dummy Pascualito; Javier and the naughty Jaimito; Daniel Riera, author of the book Ventriloquists; Dani, an Orthodox Jewish ventriloquist, with Cebollita, a replica of Chirolita (but wearing a kippah); and Charlie, who’s actually truly in love with Rosita, his sensual female dummy and the woman of his dreams. Though Charlie is the only one in love with his dummy, love is at the heart of the relationships the ventriloquists establish with their dummies. Otherwise, how could they care for them so much? Some of them even consider them part of their own families, literally speaking. So Alejandro Maly’s documentary offers not only a particular portrayal with very appealing information alongside exhaustive research that probes deep into the subject, but, more importantly, it also dwells on the more intimate, subjective connotations of the relationships between ventriloquists and dummies. Which in the end are the more revealing ones. Limited release San Martín Cultural Centre (Sarmiento 1551), on Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, at 7.45pm. production notes ¿Dónde estás, Negro? (Argentina, 2016) Written and directed by Alejandro Maly. Cinematography: Gabriel Villazon, Alejandro Maly, Ariel Sauret, Mariana Cencic. Editing: Alejandro Maly. Running time: 75 minutes. @pablsuarez
POINTS: 7 Winner of the DAC Award for Best Direction, of the Argentores Award for Best Script, and the Special Mention of the Jury of the Argentine competition at last year’s Mar del Plata Film Festival, Los cuerpos dóciles (“The Docile Bodies”), written and directed by novel helmer Matías Scarvaci and Diego Gachassin (Vladimir en Buenos Aires, co-director of Habitación disponible) is a rare bird on the local scene of observational documentaries —for a number of very different reasons. For starters, it boasts a very appealing raw energy and a great ability to convey its ideas as well as to elicit a strong response from viewers. Whereas many observational documentaries tend to ask for a contemplative mindset from viewers, Los cuerpos dóciles does the opposite: it prompts you to want to be a part of what goes on the big screen. Or, better said, to be physically there to see more of the multifaceted scenario. And we’re talking about a truly complex reality. The documentary takes its name the concept of the docile bodies in Michel Foucault’s Discipline and Punish, and it follows the everyday professional work of the well-known criminal defence lawyer Alfredo García Kalb as he conducts a case in which his defendants, two impoverished youngsters from Greater BA, are charged with a crime that apparently they did not commit. Or, at least, not as charged. That remains to be seen. In any case, the point is that, like so many young people — and others not so young — from the fringes of society, they are confronted with a local law system that’s no longer fair or reliable as it claims it is. For that matter, the often feeble status of justice in Argentina doesn’t affect solely these people, but it hurts them particularly. It’s a good thing that García Kalb is a character himself, so to speak, with or without a documentary about him and his work, because that helps quite a lot to build a meaty drama. Among other things, he’s a family man, a drummer with a band, and an altruist whose work is mostly devoted to those who cannot afford the high fees most lawyers would charge. He knows the penitentiary system is not at all a place to inmates’ resocialization for their punishment, and so they live in very poor, subhuman conditions. He also says that the police forces are now more like political forces meant to take people off the streets at any cost. Of course, people who the system finds undesirable. But make no mistake. Los cuerpos dóciles is not agit-prop and it doesn’t cast a judgment on the characters it analyzes. It’s not about saying who the good guys and the bad guys are. Instead, it dissects the system and how it is implemented and this way it exposes its perversions together with its traps and intentional errors. In so doing, it shows how not everybody is equal before the law. It goes without saying that this problem is not in the least restricted to Argentina, hence its universal dimension. Neatly filmed in static shots for the scenes at the oral trials and other indoor shots when Kalb is with his children, and an expressive hand-held camera for exteriors when Kalb meets his clients and relatives, Los cuerpos dóciles swiftly manages to convey the state of things with remarkable realism and the right tempo along its 74 minutes. Though the characters know they are being filmed, they surely don’t show it, which opens the door to moments of exceptional emotional intensity. In any case, you could say that Kalb occasionally performs for the camera with all his histrionic personality, but if that’s so, then there’s nothing to worry about, since he’s a compelling actor. As compelling as the documentary itself. Limited release Sundays at 6pm at the Gaumont Movie Theatre (Rivadavia 1635) and the MALBA (Av. Figueroa Alcorta 3415). Production notes Los cuerpos dóciles (Argentina, 2015). Written and directed by Diego Gachassin, Matías Scarvaci. Cinematography: Diego Gachassin. Editing: Valeria Racioppi. Running time: 74 minutes. @pablsuarez
Predictable local romantic comedy Permitidos tackles proven formula and falls flat Points: 5 Camila (Lali Espósito) and Mateo (Martín Piroyansky) have been a happy couple for many years. They live together and enjoy every minute of it. In fact, they seem to have been made for each other. One night, while having dinner with another couple, they talk about their fantasies, about affairs they would like to have. You know, the so-called “allowance” or “free-passes”: famous actors, actresses, gorgeous models, and so on, that a regular person could fulfil their fantasy with, if given the chance, without counting it as cheating. After all, it would be just one exception with someone who’s nearly impossible to hook up with. That is until Mateo accidentally runs into his ideal woman, Zoe del Rio, a famous and beautiful model. What happens is that a thief tries to snatch her bag, and Mateo prevents the robbery and gives Zoe her bag back. Believe or not, Zoe is instantly drawn to Mateo, so they exchange phone numbers and agree to meet later on — without Camila knowing, of course. That triggers an unfortunate chain of events and, because of infidelity, love will be at stake. Such is the stuff that the latest film by Ariel Winograd (Mi primera boda, Vino para robar, Sin hijos) is made of. Structurally speaking, his new romantic comedy is well narrated to a certain point. Then again, it’s not that difficult to tackle an already known and proven formula. So the challenge is in getting it right. Which Permitidos doesn’t do because it has its good share of flaws. We’re talking about a considerable lack of originality in character design, a high degree of implausibility on many levels, uninspired gags that go for easy laughs, rehearsed performances that never come fully alive, and an overall sense of predictability — and not in a good way. It’s generic stuff, and as such it’s meant to follow established conventions, but they have to be very well executed as to achieve a good effect. Even Piroyanski, who’s quite a resourceful actor, is often little credible — though he has some good moments as well. Espósito is perhaps more convincing, but only from time from time too. As for the chemistry between them, there’s no problem to be found there. The problem is that, as the film unfolds, most of the situations and vicissitudes the characters undergo get more and more farfetched, even for the film’s own logic. Let alone a conservative, somewhat moralizing attitude toward infidelity, but maybe that’s not to be taken too seriously. As for the cinematography and the editing, they are merely correct, whereas the bland musical score is frankly off-putting. Permitidos is mainstream fare and so you shouldn’t expect it to be an innovative auteur work. But even mainstream fare does get a lot better than this. Production notes Permitidos (Argentina, 2016). Directed by Ariel Winograd. Written by Julián Loyola and Gabriel Korenfield. With Lali Espósito, Martin Piroyansky, Liz Solari, Benjamín Vicuña. Cinematography: Félxi “Chango” Monti. Running time: 107 minutes. @pablsuarez
A scene from Fernando Díaz’s documentary Monumento. By Pablo Suárez For the Herald Back in 2009, the National Culture Secretariat launched a public competition for proposals to design and build the National Monument to the Victims of the Holocaust. The winners were architects Gustavo Nielsen and Sebastián Marsiglia, who presented an attention-grabbing, life-affirming project that mirrored some key aspects of the Holocaust. Later on, Argentine filmmaker Fernando Díaz (Plaza de almas) produced, wrote, directed, and photographed the documentary Monumento, which chronicles the development of the project and construction of the monument while it establishes a fresh, colloquial dialogue with a handful of survivors from the Shoah living today in Buenos Aires. So on the one hand, the protagonists of Monumento are the people who survived the Holocaust, many of them members of the Argentine organization Generations from the Shoah, directed by Diana Wang and made up of volunteers, whose goal is to keep the memory alive by researching, educating and communicating the legacy of the Holocaust to the new generations. In fact, one of its main activities is the Proyecto Aprendiz (the Apprentice Project) in which Holocaust survivors pair up and engage in an ongoing dialogue with young people, and so the new generations become witnesses themselves — “Whoever listens to a witness, becomes a witness,” as Nobel laureate and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel used to say. People at large and, more to the point, survivors who narrate their stories, don’t just disseminate information, but instead they interact, raise queries, and send a message also inspired by the questions asked. And as regards the content, Monumento smartly sets itself apart from many documentaries of this type since, instead of zooming in on the infamous atrocities endured by the victims, it chooses to focus on their stories about getting their strength back, arriving in a new country, starting a new family, and getting their hope back. In short, it’s all about celebrating life after death in a very down to earth manner. So there are no blows below the belt whatsoever, no manipulation through a display of human pain, no condescending commiseration. Which is not to say pain is left out of the picture, but rather it’s only referred to when strictly necessary. In fact, there are a few moments when an unexpected clever note of humour brushes off any attempt at solemnity or pomposity. On the other hand, Díaz examines the many steps taken to design and build the monument in Buenos Aires — in turn, it also takes a look at the one in Berlin in order to draw some political correlations. Architects Nielsen and Marsiglia speak about the intentions and characteristics of the monument, which is welcomed by many but at the same time some survivors feel it doesn’t represent the magnitude of the darkness in which they were immersed. And that’s when it should be remembered that the monument is not about death, but about remembering those who survived. Conventionally shot by all standards, Monumento is a vivid document of a collective tragedy rather than a film essay or an auteur work, so its merits lay in the realm of what it says and how neatly it says it. Production notes Monumento (Argentina, 2016). Written and directed by Fernando Díaz. Narrated by Juan Palomino. With Gustavo Nielsen, Sebastian Marsiglia, Diana Wang, Aida Ender, Wanda Holsman. Cinematography: Alan Endler, Claudio Ramos, Fernando Díaz. Editing: Emiliano Serra. Running time: 75 minutes. @pablsuarez
POINTS: 6 French filmmaker Jean Paul Rappeneau is most likely to be remembered by Argentine audiences thanks to his award-winning and Oscar nominated film version of Cyrano de Bergerac (1990), starring Gerard Depardieu and Anne Brochet. A few years later, and also starring Gerard Depardieu alongside Isabelle Adjani, Rappeneau premiered the wartime drama Bon Voyage (2003), which also gathered a fair number of César awards and nominations. Now, after a long hiatus of 13 years, comes his new feature Belles familles, a typically French farcical comedy written and executed by-the-book, with luminous performances from a solid cast that includes Mathieu Amalric, Nicole García, André Dussolier, Gilles Lellouche, and Marine Vacth (the gorgeous beauty of François Ozon’s Young and Beautiful). Moderately enjoyable even if unoriginal, Belles familles (translated to English as Families) finds its greatest assets in its very well-paced energetic tempo, some whimsical dialogue, some playfulness with clichés, but above all in the comedians’ expertise to flesh up characters that otherwise may at times be merely cartoonish. Directed with enough brio and confidence, this charming Gallic outing may be too generic to satisfy demanding moviegoers, but then again, despite all its awards and nominations, Rappeneau’s Cyrano de Bergerac wasn’t exactly groundbreaking. Jérôme Varenne (Mathieu Amalric) is a Shanghai-based French financier who makes a brief stop in Paris en route to London with his Chinese girlfriend and business partner, Chen-Li (Gemma Chan). As soon as he contacts his mother (Nicole García), he finds out that the family mansion in Ambray is going to be sold right away, and not without trouble, since it’s involved in a feud between an aggressive real estate developer, Piaggi (Gilles Lellouche), and the town mayor (André Dussollier). As soon as Jérôme starts examining the case, much to his surprise he learns that there were some dear secrets his father kept from everyone. Secrets that involve … another family. Being a hectic farce, expect characters running, yelling, gesturing, and driving as they zip through smartly interconnected sequences with an obsessive sense of mise-en-scene and camerawork in which nothing is left to chance. Rappeneau is well known for planning each shot exhaustively and Belles familles is a sound example. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that this very dynamic cinematic choreography cannot but be eye-catching, even when you realize there’s nothing much below the surface. Moreover, the far too glossy cinematography may be pleasing to the eye, but it doesn’t do much good for creating atmosphere. On the plus side, it’s fair to say that when least expected, some characters have a chance to display some hidden layers, and so the entire affair becomes more nuanced. In the end, Belles familles is as effective as it could be in its exploration of upper-class miseries, family matters, secret loves, and second chances too. By the way, don’t take the over-the-top ending seriously either. Intentionally or not, it falls in the realm of strict parody. Which in this case is not a bad thing at all. Production notes Belles familles/Families (France, 2015). Directed by Jean-Paul Rappeneau. Written by Jean-Paul Rappeneau, Philippe Le Guay, Julien Rappeneau. With Mathieu Amalric, Marine Vacth, Gilles Lellouche, Nicole Garcia, Karin Viard, Gemma Chan, André Dussolier. Cinematography: Thierry Arbogast. Editing: Veronique Lange. Running time: 113 minutes.
Marco Bellochio’s social critique shines again in Sangue del mio sangue POINTS: 8 The singularly picturesque Italian town of Bobbio is several things at once: it’s Marco Bellochio’s hometown, it’s the scenario where he shot his striking opera prima Il pugni in tasca (Fists in the Pocket) back in 1965, and it’s also where he shot some other highlights of his career. And now it’s the place where the two stories of Sangue del mio sangue (Blood of my Blood) occur. More to the point, it’s Santa Chiara, Bobbio’s old convent prison, where the drama transpires. Now, the big surprise is that the film consists of two different tales taking place in different times and not interconnected — at least not in an apparent or conventional way. First, there’s a 17th century horrorific witch trial, which is in fact a free recreation of the early 17th real life affair that happened in the town of Monza, where a nun named Sister Virginia María had a heated romance with an aristocrat and then gave birth to two children fathered by him. She then took part along with other nuns in the murder of another nun to cover up the affair. In the end, she was put on trial, found guilty and as a punishment was walled in for 13 years in the Home of Santa Valeria. In Sangue del mio sangue, the priests of Santa Chiara discover that a young nun (Lidiya Liberman) has had an affair with a priest and then forced him to kill himself. But not without the help from the devil since, according to the priests, she’s a witch. Federico Mai (Pier Giorgio Bellochio), the dead priest’s twin brother, wants Benedetta to confess she’s a witch with a pact with the devil. This way, his brother can be buried in holy ground. Otherwise, he will be buried in the donkey cemetery for he committed suicide out of his free will. What ensues is a painful torture executed by the priests in order to get the nun to confess. Think of a medieval trial and you’ll get the picture. Even Federico plays a role in the compulsory martyrdom. Expect long standing suffering. A state of ecstasy is at the heart of this first story, as you can see it not only eventually in the nun, but also as an overall feeling that permeates the whole scenario — there’s one particular priest who seems to be on the verge of spiritual and mental collapse. As the story unfolds, a piercing drama with some very harrowing scenes is accomplished with clockwork precision. Typical of Bellochio, the narrative is muscular and absorbing. Of course you’ll be reminded of Joan of Arc — be it Ingrid Bergman in Victor Fleming’s version, Florence Delay’s in Bresson’s riveting feature, or María Falconetti in Dreyer’s masterpiece. You could say that this time, Bellochio’s well known social critique to the oppression and cruelty of the Catholic Church reaches a new level — and not without reason. If martyrdom gives way to ecstasy, then it will turn into vigorous and unforeseen rebirth of the spirit and the flesh too — perhaps as both payback and revenge. Then, there’s the altogether different second tale. Which deals no less than with the encounter of a 21st century vampire, Count Basta (Roberto Herlitzka) and Federico Mai (Pier Giorgio Bellochio again), a tax inspector who brings a Russian billionaire who wants to buy the convent where the Count has secreted himself for the last eight years. The town of Bobbio has changed in every sense, meaning it’s been modernized, and the convent has also changed since it’s now in ruins. While Count Basta has dropped out of society long ago, but he still likes to go for a walk at night around town. And he meets with other vampire friends at the dentist’s room. Now the genre is farcical comedy that reflects upon the fate of vampires in a world filled with social networks and media influence everywhere. It seems that the focus is on the corruption and decadence of our postmodern society, as voiced by the melancholic Count who’s tired of living. It seems he could very well do without any more time. Vampire or not, you can only take so much progress. Once again, Bellochio’s social critique comes across, albeit in an oblique manner. Regarding aesthetics, the whole film can’t get any better. Flawless cinematography with a great use of depth of field in both exteriors and interiors, always lit to show the tiniest of details, alongside a palette that establishes the rights moods for the stories and their vicissitudes. Let alone the impressive production design that creates worlds of their own, sometimes with a heavily pictorial style. Last but not least, the heavenly musical score is much welcoming and it’s of great help to achieve an everlasting film of haunting beauty. Production notes Sangue del mio sangue / Blood of my Blood (2015). Written and directed by Marco Bellocchio. With Roberto Herlitzka, Lidya Lieberman, Alba Rohrwacher, Pier Giorgio Bellochio, Fausto Russo Alesi, Federica Fracassi, Alberto Cracco, Bruno Cariello, Toni Bertorelli, Filippo Timi, Elena Bellocchio. Cinematography: Daniele Cipri. Production design: Andrea Castorina. Music: Carlo Crivelli. Costumes: Daria Calvelli. Editing: Francesca Calvelli, Claudio Misantoni. Production companies: Kavac Film, IBC Movie, Rai Cinema in association with Barbary Films, Amka Films, RSI Switzerland. Running time: 107 minutes.