POINTS: 8 Imagine two neighbouring farms in a very isolated and magnificent rural landscape in Iceland. Though they live right next to each other, two old estranged brothers, unmarried and childless, haven’t spoken to one another in 40 years. They are both shepherds and very proud of the ancient pedigree they breed. You could say they are actually in love with their rams. In fact, the rams are all the family they’ve got. Gummi (Sigurdur Sigurjonsson), the younger brother, is hard-working, respectful, and calm while Kiddi (Theodor Juliusson), the older one, is ill-tempered, trigger-happy, and a heavy drinker. If it weren’t because they sort of look alike, you wouldn’t know they were brothers. Each year they enter a competition for best ram and this year it so happens that a ram owned by Kiddi turns out to be the winner, much to Gummi’s dismay. The fact that Kiddi’s ram won for a difference of half a point makes it all the more irritating. However, the tragedy about to unfold has nothing to do with brotherhood issues. There are early signs of an incurable brain disease known as scrapie that is infecting the animals. And once the local authorities confirm it, all sheep in the valley must be slaughtered. Emotionally and economically, the farmers are shattered. As for Kiddi and Gummi, let’s say they don’t take the news in the best of ways. Yes, they will have to come together to save their sheep, but in so doing they will also trigger an unfortunate chain of events. Winner of the Un Certain Regard Award at the Cannes Festival, Rams is written and directed by Grimur Hakonarson, a seasoned documentary maker (better known for the art-house comedy Summerland) and you can see his gifted eye for observing and describing in the way he renders the raw, realistic beauty of the landscapes of his homeland — which brings to mind Icelander Benedikt Erlingsson’s Of Horses and Men, another art-house favourite. Hakonarson is assisted by no less than cinematographer Sturla Brandth (the man behind the superb 138 minute-single take of Victoria), who resorts to the wonders of natural lighting as he crafts an eye-catching palette of cold and somewhat dark browns, blues, and greys, while he also focuses on alluring textures. But beside these undeniable formal values, the main triumph of Rams lies in its drama and its tone alongside the performances. It would’ve been relatively easy to go for strict and always reliable drama, or for formulaic comedy, or for mere costumbrism. However, Hakonarson opts to go the way of genre crossbreeding and so he creates a much more interesting art work, one that pushes boundaries. Think of Rams as a film that begins in the vein of affable costumbrism, occasionally peppered with some sardonic humour, then it smoothly switches to a very personal drama, only to later on enter the realm of tragedy. At the same time, every now and then, absurdism surfaces to outstanding effect. Such genre shifts are achieved seamlessly, in part thanks to the smart screenplay and to the faultlessly timed editing, but most of all because of a subdued, quietly restrained overall tone that glues the film together. And then there are the actors. First, Sigurjonsson takes centre stage as Gummi. It’s he who establishes the point of view of the narrative and sets up the humanistic feeling. Then, after a certain plot point, Juliusson, that is to say Kiddi, becomes the protagonist and he gives the film new brio. In any case, both of them show a range that makes the drama all the more compelling. Considering that dear rams are involved, this cannot be an ordinary siblings’ relationship. And yet you’re bound to relate to it in unexpected ways. Production notes Rams / Hrútar (Iceland, 2015) Written and directed by Grimur Hakonarson. With Sigurdur Sigurjonsson, Theodor Juliusson, Charlotte Boving, Gunnar Jonsson, Porleifur Einarsson. Cinematography: Sturla Brandth Grovlen. Editing: Kristjan Lodmfjord. Running time: 93 minutes. @pablsuarez
New documentary offers sharp glimpse of the life of world-famous Pichon-Rivière “How to approach someone who introduced psychoanalysis and founded an original theory school called social psychology, a believer in the shared word, someone who didn’t have a penchant for writing and left no written testimony of his work?” wonders Argentine documentary maker Miguel Kohan (Salinas grandes, Café de los maestros) as he refers to the world-famous psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Enrique Pichon-Rivière, the subject of his sharp documentary El Francesito — Un documental (im)posible sobre Enrique Pichón- Rivière. The answer to such a complex question is actually smartly developed along 85 minutes of insights, observations, testimonies, facts, archive footage, and interviews, all of it turning into an in depth look at the mind and soul of the man who many have wrongly called the Argentine Sigmund Freud. Wrongly because Pichon-Rivière was born to French parents in 1907 in Switzerland, was naturalized an Argentine and died in Buenos Aires in 1977. From his very early years to his golden years, the documentary sensitively focuses on some key aspects in the shaping of a personality that would leave an unparalleled humanistic and historical legacy. To begin with, Pichon-Rivière’s parents embraced a modern lifestyle, had socialist ideals, deplored racism and sexism, rebelled against well-established cultural norms, and loved the works of Rimbaud and Baudelaire — much of this progressive imprint was to be found later on in the persona and work of Pichon-Rivière himself. When he was only three, his family fist moved to Buenos Aires, then to Santa Fe, and finally to the small town of Goya, in the province of Corrientes. So he spent his entire childhood under the strong influence of the Guarani indigenous culture, and learned to speak French first, then Guaraní, and finally Spanish. He began his medical studies at age 24, first in Rosario and then in Buenos Aires. He was passionate about psychiatry and psychoanalysis as well, yet from a very free, non-standardized and interpersonal perspective. Which, among other things, meant he was constantly under attack from extreme right-wing groups while serving as chief of admissions at the Borda Mental Hospital. In the 1940s, he became one of the founding members of the Argentine Association of Psychoanalysis (APA) then in the 1950s he helped create the first private school of social psychology and the Argentine Institute of Social Studies (IADES). Now you’d think that by knowing the facts, theories, and ideas regarding a man of science, you’d know what matters the most about such a man. In a sense, you would. But not entirely. For it’s in the human, more intimate side where the complexity of a person is to be found. Kohan is surely more than aware of this and so his interviews with those who knew Pichon-Rivière — from his son Joaquín Pichon Rivière to historian Horacio Carbone, psychologist Alfredo Moffatt, cinematographer Juan José Stagnaro, visual artist Guyla Kosice — primarily address those aspects you can’t know from reading textbooks. You can also think of the film as an inspired essay on Pichon-Rivière’s sense of ethics and you would be right. Also, great attention is paid to the influence of the Guaraní culture during his childhood since matters of language, reality and representation are at play here. Kohan himself hotographed some dreamy images of the natural landscapes in Corrientes, which are soothing and slightly hypnotic at once. Images that ask you to draw a picture of a man of unique colours. Production notes El Francesito — Un documental (im)posible sobre Enrique Pichón-Riviere (Argentina, 2016). Written, directed and produced by Miguel Kohan. With Joaquín Pichon Rivière, Alfredo Moffatt, Ana Quiroga, Juan José Stagnaro, Estela Baistrocchi, Vicente Zito Lema, Kosice, Horacio Carbone. Cinematography: Miguel Kohan. Editing: Rosario Cervio. Running time: 85 minutes. @pablsuarez
The High Sun blends nuanced naturalistic performances, impeccable cinematography and arresting visuals Points: 8 Winner of the Un Certain Regard Jury Prize at Cannes, Croatian director Dalibor Matanic’s Zvidan (The High Sun) takes an empathetic, yet never facile look at the cracks left by the wars in the former Yugolasvia, which have divided the country as well as its men and women — be them youngsters or elders. A Croatian village and a Serbian one are the main locations where three stories of love beyond frontiers take place across three decades, with the same seasoned actors strikingly playing different characters. From a different perspective, each story focuses on diverse shades of the same conflict - from tragic to distressing to somewhat hopeful. The first story transpires in 1991, right before the war and in time of imminent danger. It’s a hot, sunny summer by the lake and Serbian Jelena (Tihana Lazovic) and Croatian Ivan (Goran Markovic) are very much in love. She’s a temperamental blonde and he’s a boyish trumpet player. The next day they will flee to Zagreb so they can live in relative tranquility, but Jelena’s brother is determined not to allow her to do so since her boyfriend is “on the enemy side.” Don’t expect a happy ending. Next, it’s 2001 and the war has already finished. Natasha (Lazovic) is a sullen teenager who together with her patient mom (Nives Ivankovic) returns to their home wrecked to pieces. Devastated by the loss of loved ones, they do their best to move on. But when mother hires a repairman to help them rebuild their house, Ante (Markovic), Natasha doesn’t accept his presence since he’s “one of them” — meaning the people who killed his brother. Heated arguments, much sorrow and unforeseen sexual anxiety ensue. Finally, the year is 2011 and though the war has been over for a decade, hurting memories and open wounds are still to be felt. College student Luka (Markovic) returns to his hometown alongside his best pal Ivno (Stipe Radoja) to attend a rave. Drugs and alcohol set up a party atmosphere, and yet Luka can’t have any real fun since the remembrance of a girl he did wrong to still persists. Let alone seeing his down in the dumps parents once again. But perhaps, only perhaps, this time there might be light at the end of the tunnel. While the three episodes are basically equally dramatic, and to a major or lesser degree, they are also equally suspenseful, the first one and the last are the ones which strike chords of deeper resonance. Not that the second is flimsy, but it ends on a naïve note that doesn’t do much justice to the general state of loss. It could be argued that the first tale goes for shock value, but even if that’s the case then it still makes sense and it is credible. The last story needs almost no words to convey its wide emotional scope with welcomed subtlety. Just like the nuanced naturalistic performances, the impeccable cinematography is to be celebrated — let alone the seamless editing and the montage sequence that divides the first story from the second. Visuals are arresting not necessarily because they’re technically flawless, but instead because they build up the right moods and the overall ambiance for both each single story and the film as a whole. Think that instead of being an agitated film about war, Zvidan opts for a humanistic take on how zealous love is affected to a breaking point before, during, and after a war. With a slight degree of optimism included. Production notes Zvidan / The High Sun (Croatia, Serbia, Slovenia, 2015) Written and directed by Dalibor Matanic. With Tihana Lazovic, Goran Markovic, Nives Ivankovic, Dado Cosic, Stipe Radoja, Trpimir Jurkic, Mira Banjac. Cinematography: Marko Brdar. Production designer: Mladen Ozbolt. Costume designer: Ana Savic-Gecan. Editor: Tomislav Pavlic. Music: Alen Sinkauz, Nenad Sinkauz. Production company: Kinorama. Running time: 123 minutes. @pablsuarez
A scene from Eugenio Canevari’s promising debut feature Paula. By Pablo Suarez Written and directed by Argentine filmmaker Eugenio Canevari, Paula is a debut feature that shows the firm hand and acute eye of a promising new director right from the start. Featured in Mar del Plata, San Sebastián and London film festivals, Canevari’s opus focuses on an unhappy time in the life of the title character — absorbingly played by newcomer Denise Labbate — a young babysitter and live-in-maid working for an upper-class family on a large rural estate in Pergamino, Buenos Aires province. Paula leads an ordinary, even dull life as all she does is take care of the family’s children and doing some house chores, with little time for friends or fun. She did recently have a boyfriend, an older man, yet they are not together any longer and haven’t stayed friends either. Which makes it all the more difficult for her to deal with an unexpected pregnancy. Having the baby is out of the question and having an abortion costs much more money that she can afford. Her ex-boyfriend couldn’t care less about it and won’t give her a dime, and Paula clearly knows that talking to the family she works for would definitely mean losing her job. What first strikes about Paula is its atmospheric cinematography together with the near perfectly tuned performances. Technically impeccable, the photography and the camerawork often isolate and distance Paula within the spaces she dwells in. In this sense, you can deem the film a heartfelt meditation on the loneliness of a character left to her own devices. Not only physical loneliness, but also emotional, which often hurts the most. With restrained body language and gestures, little dialogue and plenty of pauses and silences, Canevari coaches his actors with strong assurance — some of them are non-professional actors performing in front of the camera for the first time. It is essential for viewers to sensitively relate to Paula’s tribulations, but she should never come across as a hopeless victim. Of course class differences play a central role: if Paula were a member of the class she works for, then her fate would be completely different. But not being one doesn’t turn her into a martyr either. Ultimately, Canevari is after a realistic portrayal of the state of things. So you see Paula in her everyday quietly turned upside down by her pregnancy. You see her in her mute suffering which could easily be taken for sheer apathy. And you see the others, who are oblivious not only to her needs and wants, but also to those of their own family members. An overall feeling of malaise permeates the entire scenario of well-off parents who don’t connect between themselves or with their offspring and children who don’t connect with themselves. Occasionally too leisurely-paced, with minor glitches in dramatic progression and with a somewhat overemphasized ending at a too symbolic birthday party, Paula is nonetheless a welcomed debut film which has something that similar outings often lack: narrative coherence and a sense of style. Production notes Paula (Argentina, 2015). Written and directed by Eugenio Canevari. With Denise Labbate, Estefanía Blaiotta, Pablo Boccanera, Nazareno Gerde, Justo Carricart, Amelia Carricart. Cinematography: Kasty Castillo, Pali Molentino. Editing: Didac Palou. Running time: 66 minutes.
Florence’s calibrated performances and farcical tone makes it an effective crowd-pleaser Based on the real life of a well-known singer with an unmistakable appalling voice in early 20th century Manhattan, Florence Foster Jenkins is the new film by Stephen Frears — following The Program (2015) and Philomena (2013). While it’s true that it breaks no new ground whatsoever in aesthetic terms and that a large part of the script is a sort of flat, it’s equally true that the finely calibrated performances and the farcical tone makes it an effective crowd-pleaser with more than a handful of genuine highlights. Florence Foster Jenkins was a socialite and a devoted opera buff, totally in love with music and with her longtime husband, St. Clair Bayfield — an English mediocre actor — with whom she didn’t live together since he had a younger woman as a mistress and so he lived with her. Overtly or implicitly, Florence and St. Clair had an agreement about this. Incredibly unaware of her awfully off-key voice, she hired famous professors to teach her how to sing works from Mozart, Verdi and Brahms. Of course, neither the husband nor the maestros ever told her how bad her singing was. On the contrary, they encouraged her to believe she was a good singer that kept improving as her vocal training went on. But they didn’t do it out of cruelty or to make fun at her - not at all. It so happens that Florence was a very generous, welcoming woman who needed music like she needed air to breathe. Or perhaps even more. And for a very good reason that won’t be disclosed here as not to spoil one of the film’s most emotional moments. For Florence does have a couple of very touching scenes that rightfully belong to the realm of your most typical tearjerkers. Set in 1944, Frear’s new opus features Meryl Streep as Florence, Hugh Grant as St. Clair, and Simon Helberg as Cosmé McMoon, a young pianist Florence hires for her new shows. Believe it or not, her recitals had audiences that applauded her singing. The thing is that Bayfield organized them but only with small audiences that knew what to expect and were paid to react favorably. At the same time, he shielded her from mean music critics. But when she organizes her own show at Carnegie Hall, then that’s when the naked truth is to be revealed. Now she’s bound to know she’s the worst singer in the world. Florence Foster Jenkins is the first film credit by TV writer Nicholas Martin, and its pacing and dramatic progression is very characteristic of standard television comedy. For cinema some scenes are cut-off short, others take place without the necessary transitions, and a few others could’ve been more elaborate. And up until half of the second act, dramatic drive is not that strong, so paradoxically enough a feature with an outrageously bizarre protagonist feels too flat. But during the rest of the film, as the much awaited concert at the Carnegie Hall approaches, the rhythm goes hectic, hysterical emotions start to abound, and farcical comedy definitely takes centre stage as it reaches unexpected high points. Above all, think of Florence as an actors’ movie. Its commonplace to say Meryl Streep is great in a role because the truth is that she always is. But there are many times when her performance is out-of-this-world. For better and for worse, Florence is not one of those times. Make no mistake: she does a tremendous job, albeit it’s done by the book — a very smart book — with an array of a gifted actress’ tricks and resources. But it’s not like her astounding performance in, say, Death Becomes Her — just to cite an example in the comedy arena. You have to give equal credit, if not more, to Hugh Grant and Simon Helberg for their sharp performances that bring new shades to characters that could’ve otherwise been too stereotypical or simply not fleshy enough. And Stephen Frears is to be highly praised for having created true chemistry among the trio that does feel real at all times. Come to think of it, the greatest achievement of Florence Foster Jenkins is that its nature resembles that of its protagonist: with all its missteps, it’s as genuine and occasionally moving as Florence was in her life in love with music. Now, a final note for those who like having the same story told by different people. French director Xavier Giannoli’s Marguerite (2015), starring Catherine Frot, also took the story of Florence Foster Jenkins and relocated in Paris in the 1920’s. It’s way more of a drama than any sort of comedy, with a stellar performance by Frot. Should you like Frears’ Florence, then watch Giannoli’s version. It’s not a masterpiece, but you won’t be disappointed either. Production notes Florence Foster Jenkins (UK, 2016) Directed by Stephen Frears. Written by Nicholas Martin. With Meryl Streep, Hugh Grant, Simon Helberg, Rebecca Ferguson, Nina Arianda. Cinematography: Danny Cohen. Editing: Valerio Bonelli. Production design: Alan McDonald. Costume design: Consolata Boyle. Music: Alexandre Desplat. Production companies: Qwerty Films, Pathe, BBC Films. Producers: Michael Kuhn, Tracey Seaward. Running time: 110 minutes.
POINTS: 7 In Maria Sole Tognazzi’s Viaggio Sola (“A Five Star Life”), Irene (Margherita Buy) is a good looking forty-something woman with a dream job: she’s a luxury hotel inspector and so she spends 90 percent of her time at five star hotels in Paris, Berlin, Marrakech … However, as glamorous as that may sound, she nonetheless feels dissatisfied — but she’s not aware of that. For she’s the typical type of character bound to have a typical awakening at the very ending of the film. You saw that coming, right? She once had a boyfriend, Andrea (Stefano Accorsi) she’s now friends with, but she hasn’t been romantically involved with anyone for a long time. She has no children, which shouldn’t be a problem because she says she’s never felt the need to be a mother. Every now and then she takes care of her two little nieces, but that’s as far as it goes. So she’s very devoted to her work but she lacks a real life. Viaggio Sola is a very, very light drama — with a very, very formulaic spark of comedy and romance — that emphasizes its premise so much that it gets boring before you know it. It’s also an exercise in redundancy of what you see in the first act — namely Irene visiting hotels and doing her job in not the happiest of moods — is almost exactly the same thing you see in the second act. By the time you reach the third act, another character surfaces: Kate, a middle-aged feminist writer who, without knowing the part, will help Irene realize she’s leading the wrong kind of life. Of course, she needed somebody else to tell her that because the script was too busy with so much glossy travelogue and superb five-star hotels. By the way, Kate teaches Irene that she needs to make an urgent change in her life through one of the most unimaginative, cheapest tricks in a beginner’s scriptwriting course. This is in perfect tune with the ending where, of course, Irene realizes she likes children after all, and she does so in an unbelievably trite and implausible manner. There’s also something quite odd about the structure of the narrative: what should matter the most — that is to say, the core of the conflicts — is almost entirely left out of the movie, and so what you see is the before and after. And this is not deliberate. No wonder it feels you’re watching connected fragments that never make up a whole. It’s only fair to point that out that Buy does deliver a decent performance as the obsessive, angst-ridden Irene and Accorsi is equally convincing as her former boyfriend. But that’s not much to say considering what a mess almost everything else is. Production notes Viaggio sola / A Five Star Life (Italy, 2013) Directed by Maria Sole Tognazzi. Written by Ivan Cotroneo, Francesca Marciano, Maria Sole Tognazzi. With Margherita Buy, Stefano Accorsi, Fabrizia Sacchi, Lesley Manville. Cinematography: Arnaldo Catinari. Editing: Walter Fasano. Running time: 85 minutes. @pablsuarez
ale of mystery set in rural Argentina is an atmospheric slow burner with stunning visuals POINTS: 7 “In Germania, my first film, I delved into the relationship between man and nature. I explored how the mood of people who had to look for a different life affected the animals on the farm. I find an unavoidable connection between the two,” says Argentine filmmaker Maximiliano Schonfeld about his subtly absorbing debut feature which premiered at BAFICI in 2012. “My second film, La helada negra (“The Black Frost”) was also first conceived as a film about nature. Moreover, it became a film about faith and the small miseries that revolve around any object of worship that may appear in the town I was born and raised.” Set in a small town in the province of Entre Ríos with a strong community of German ethnics, Germania focused on a family about to move to Brazil when some kind of unknown plague attacks their farm and animals. Why that was happening was a mystery to everybody. At the same time, there was a deep sense that there’s something ominous lurking beneath it all. Released today, La helada negra is not about people leaving town but about someone arriving in town. Also set in the small town where Germania took place, Schonfeld’s sophomore feature deals with yet another plague that’s threatening a farm — while some other weird stuff also occurs — while it focuses on Alejandra (Ailín Salas), a mysterious young woman who is found sleeping in a field by Lucas (Lucas Schell), a young man whose family’s crops have been killed by a dry freeze, meaning the black frost. Lucas takes Alejandra to his family’s farm. Soon enough, she starts doing some house chores such as cooking and also helps out with farming tasks. Out of the blue, Alejandra starts showing some magical powers that seem to solve quite of few problems the villagers are facing — the destructive effects of the frost among them. So it’s no surprise the dazed farmers start to worship her as a saint. To them, she maybe the saviour they were in urgent need of. But as time goes by they’ll also harbour some doubts about her identity. Maybe she is not the luminous presence she appears to be. Unlike Germania, La helada negra is elliptically narrated and it doesn’t tell what you could conventionally call a story. It’s more of an atmospheric feature where what matters is a mystic sense of reality, a scenario where what’s left unsaid triggers many possible interpretations. Scenes take place one after the next without necessarily being dramatically interconnected with a causal logic. So you should be in a contemplative and introspective state of mind to apprehend the universe this at times mesmerizing film turns out to be. Like Germania, La helada negra cinematography’s is stunning. Warm and not so warm yellowish, brownish, and greenish tones and soft lights render remarkable detail in the shadows, with appealing textures of all sorts. It’s an odd thing for this is a film that’s diaphanous and tangible at once. It’s evocative of a mutating state of things, but also of a motionless state of things, suspended in time. Non-professional actors — or rather “models”, in the Bressonian sense of the word, and as the filmmaker likes to call them — sometimes play themselves whereas other times they play other people who could be like themselves, but are not precisely them. In this regard, the presence of a well-known, professional actress such as Ailín Salas may create a sense of estrangement in viewers as she distances herself from the other actors. This feeling of estrangement can be seen as an equivalent to how the villagers perceive her. Because above it all, she’s a stranger and will never be one of them — no matter how involved in the community she gets. La helada negra is deliberately slow-paced, sometimes excruciatingly so, and while it makes sense and does work for a good deal of the screening time, it should be said that at times it drags. This is when you feel not only the town is suspended in time, but also the narrative. In any case, it’s pretty much up to viewers to decide whether it does the trick for them or not. You could also say that some sequences of the film work better in the level of ideas than in anything else, and this is not necessarily a bad thing. But it can pull you out of the film for it can create a distance between the scene and the emotions it arouses. All in all, La helada negra does certainly have far more assets than missteps, and considering what a personal and challenging film it is, then it’s more than an accomplishment. production notes La helada negra (Argentina, 2016) Written and directed by Maximiliano Schonfeld. With Ailín Salas, Lucas Schell. Cinematography: Soledad Rodríguez. Editing: Anita Remón. Running time: 82 minutes. @pablsuarez
San Martín v. Bolívar: new film sheds fresh light on a meeting of national heroes Points: 9 Written by Nicolás Capelli and Álvaro Arostegui, and starring Pablo Echarri and Anderson Ballesteros, the upcoming movie release El encuentro de Guayaquil (“The Meeting of Guayaquil”) is an adaptation of writer and historian Pacho O’Donnell’s play of the same name. It concerns the famous meeting between Argentine General José de San Martín and Venezuela’s Simón Bolívar on July 26, 1822, in the city of Guayaquil (Ecuador) during the revolutionary campaigns to free Argentina, Chile, Perú, Bolivia, Ecuador and Panamá from Spanish rule. Not much is known about the meeting, but it’s a fact that San Martín’s political status in Peru was deteriorating and he needed help from Bolívar — who had a strong political and military support — to turn his fortune around. O’Donnell’s play imagines a possible dialogue between the two national heroes as it delves into Latin America’s history and reveals many layers that have to do with its arduous process toward independence. Just like the play, Capelli’s feature renders a humanized version of these two famous national heroes. Forget what you’ve learned in your school textbooks about righteous, infallible men who led a spotless life, did no wrong and never doubted themselves whatsoever. Forget all about bronze figures and welcome flesh and blood men who, as O’Donnell recently told the Herald in an interview, even wondered more than once whether they acted out of a true desire to free countries or if perhaps they were dominated by a lust for power. Being as human as they were, their sexual exploits are not brushed aside. Moreover, San Martín’s addiction to opium rooted in the acute physical pain he suffered is also clearly exposed. The heroes in El encuentro de Guayaquil belong to the realm of historic revisionism, and as such they are seen under a different light than that of the official version story of Argentina’s history. And though Capelli’s film transforms a 75-minute dialogue-based play into 100-minute cinematic piece with some 65 actors, it still keeps the entire source material without making any changes. Or, better said, it expands the play’s scope as it adds some more weight to the characters’ background and provides more details and nuances. In tune with a revisionist approach and unlike a large number of period pieces, El encuentro de Guayaquil is not one of those films where solemn characters speak artificially and sound distant and unreachable. Capelli has coached his actors to say their lines as naturally as possible, in a way that sometimes would stress the characters’ personalities more than convey the literality of the text per se. Of course, the dialogue is still written in a less colloquial manner than contemporary dialogue, but for a period piece it’s pretty modern. A potential problem for adaptation of plays into films is that the film often ends up as what is called “filmed theatre,” which at best is an correct interpretation of the play in terms of its themes, but with little or no cinematic value. Luckily, that’s not the case with El encuentro de Guayaquil. And there’s a main reason for this: the cinematography. Instead of going for frontal shots that render characters in a tedious series of shots and reverse shots in mandatory medium shots and close-ups, Capelli resorts to a more dynamic mise-en-scene that includes circular dolly shots as well as lateral and frontal travellings. He also uses the off-screen space for dramatic purposes and goes for in-depth composition of the frame so that you don’t have the feeling of watching it all from a static frontal point of view as you would if you were at the theatre. Technically speaking, the lighting is top-notch, but what’s more important even is that it creates an atmosphere of its own, which changes as the film unfolds according to the twists in the plot. Or, better said, according to what happens in a largely human drama that never turns into a history lesson. Production notes El encuentro de Guayaquil (Argentina-Colombia, 2016). Directed by Nicolás Capelli. Written by Nicolás Capelli and Álvaro Arostegui, based on a play by Pacho O’Donnell. With Pablo Echarri, Anderson Ballesteros, Niara Awada, Arturo Bonin, Luciano Castro, Eva de Dominici, Juan Palomino. Cinematography by Sebastián Pereyra. Editing by Andrés Azcarate. Running time: 102 minutes. @pablsuarez
Underwhelming documentary on Chilean master Raúl Ruiz By Pablo Suarez Points: 5 Alejandra Rojo’s documentary Contre l’ignorance Fiction! borrows its title from a quote by Chilean filmmaker wizard Raúl Ruiz, who, among many other considerations, can be seen as one the most resourceful and accomplished directors of a very personal vein of surrealism — while it’s also true that he did not fully adhere to any specific filmmaking style. Let’s say then that surrealism was as important as many other artistic trends he incorporated in his filmography. One of the leading directors of the New Latin American Cinema, Ruiz was born in Chile in 1941 and had exhaustive experience in avant-garde theatre — he wrote about 100 plays — and worked in television as well. A loyal yet critical supporter of Salvador Allende’s government, he was forced to leave the country after the military coup of 1973. From then on, he lived in exile in Paris, a place that welcomed his views on narrative and aesthetics. Soon enough, Europe granted him support for many of his productions, which were also critically acclaimed. By the time this unique poet of cinema died from a lung infection in 2011 aged 70 in Paris, he had made over 110 films, including fiction films, shorts, and documentaries, experimenting with 35mm, 16mm and video. His work was featured on European TV and movie theatres all over the world. One of his last films, the striking masterpiece Mysteries of Lisbon, was commercially released in Buenos Aires a few weeks ago with the critical acclaim it deserves. You’ll learn about some of these facts in Rojo’s documentary and won’t know a thing about others. It’s pretty clear the she did not want to make a conventional and educational documentary so she doesn’t go for a full portrayal of Ruiz, eschews resorting to lengthy interviews with those who knew him and worked with him, uses very little archive footage where you can see Ruiz talking, and only shows a handful of photos of him. Moreover, her omnipresent voice over gives out little information and is instead a conveyance for her thoughts and feelings about Ruiz — a trick which doesn’t always work that well. And while there’s nothing wrong with this, it should be said it’s not nearly enough to do justice to such a stimulating man. Because it so happens that Contre l’ignorance Fiction! lacks a central, strong idea to glue it together. You could say that a film on Ruiz — who, in his oeuvre, favoured digressions, scattered thoughts, fragments, and intertwining layers of reality — doesn’t have to have a central idea and a straight narrative. Maybe so, but the point is that Ruiz’s films still have a strong dramatic focus conveyed through his themes and set of aesthetics. And the notions and sensations stemming out of them leave a powerful impression on viewers. Whether you like his works or not, there’s no way you can be indifferent to them. But the same cannot be said about Rojo’s documentary. The snippets of interviews featured are inserted out of context, and since the film lacks a dramatic core these interviews could be virtually placed anywhere. Plus they don’t address the many meanings and ramifications of the notions they only convey. So these fragments end up being anecdotic pieces that only scratch the surface of things. The way fragments are used here doesn’t render a thought-provoking array of ideas: it’s digressive in a bad way. As minor achievements, you first have the effective interplay between some of Ruiz’s ideas as voiced out by himself and his friends with selected sequences from some of his films. It’s interesting to see how in Ruiz’s universe art imitates life — or life imitates art, for that matter. Some reflections upon what being an exile is and about Ruiz’s methods for making films are also relevant as to try to define, even if inconclusively, who Raúl Ruiz was. Not surprisingly, the scenes of Ruiz’s movies featured make up the most appealing part of the documentary. But the truth is, you already have the movies themselves. You don’t need a middle-of-the-road documentary. Production notes Contre l’ignorance Fiction! (2016) Directed by Alejandra Rojo. With Jorge Arraigada, Paulo Branco, Ricardo Pereira, Melvile Poupaud, Waldo Rojas, Raúl Ruiz (archive footage) Editing: Jérome Colin, Isabelle Puodevigne. Running time: 63 minutes. When and where Centro Cultural San Martín (Sarmiento 1551, www.elculturalsanmartin.org). From Thursday to Sunday throughout July (except July 8 and 9), at 8pm. Tickets at 40 pesos and 25 pesos (students and seniors) available at the venue and on www.tuentrada.com.
Light approach to Flaubert’s masterpiece plays the humour card with effective results Points: 7 Adapted from Posy Simmond’s graphic novel, Gemma Bovery, the new release directed by Anne Fontaine (Coco Before Cha-nel, Adore) and coscripted with Pascal Bonitzer, takes a modern day approach to Gustave Flaubert’s masterpiece, yet not to faithfully retell it but to render it in a more lightweight manner, without much of the original existential malaise. Believe it or not, it actually works on its own terms. Set in the Gallic countryside, Gemma Bovery first focuses on Martin Joubert (Fabrice Luchini) a middle-aged man who moves back to his hometown in Normandy to take over the family bakery. He’s married to Valérie (Isabelle Candelier), a whining, discontented woman, and he has a son, Julien (Kacey Mottet Klein), an ordinary teen with no interest in school whatsoever. Life in the village is uneventful and boring, and so Martin feels life is passing him by. That is until a recently married couple moves into the cosy country house across the street. He is Charlie Bovery (Jason Flemyng), a British expat, and she is Gemma (Gemma Arterton), his sexy, stunning young wife. Guess who’s going to be smitten by her arresting charms? More to the point, not only will the baker fall for Gemma, but he’ll also do everything in his power to have her for himself — even if that involves foul play. After all, he’s fixated on Flaubert’s novel in the first place, so it should come as no surprise that he sees it unfolding in real life right in front of his eyes. Whether that’s actually true remains to be seen. Gemma Bovery is narrated from Joubert’s point of view, which makes perfect sense, as this loose adaptation is more about the obsessed man than his elusive object of desire. At times, Joubert may remind viewers of Monsieur Hire, the title character played by Michel Blanc in Patrice Leconte’s alluring film, a man who constantly watches and spies on a woman he’s fallen for. In both cases, the women partly function as excuses for the development of the male characters. In Gemma Bovery, Arterton’s main responsibility is to be as gorgeous as possible throughout. Considering the actress’s good looks, that’s an easy task. Another change from Flaubert’s novel is that though Gemma does have a series of lovers, there are a few unforeseen twists concerning them, and, even more importantly, there’s also room for laughs in Fontaine’s film — which, for the most part, work fine too. Not that this is a comedy of manners, but rather one that subtly resorts to humour, sometimes in dramatic circumstances. As the film revolves around Martin, Luchini’s performance is of extreme importance, and it’s great to see that this seasoned actor embodies desire, anguish, and occasional bliss in a believably restrained way. His sentiments show in his gaze and his sometimes trembling voice, but also in his shy body language almost always afraid to do the wrong thing. The cinematography is particularly well achieved to create moods as well as a sense of sensuality, and it depicts the French countryside with eye-catching shades that are never too saturated or imposing. And while Gemma Bovery is no masterpiece, it’ also true that is an unpretentious film, very clear about its intentions, which are accomplished for the most part. Production notes Gemma Bovery (France, 2014) Directed by Anne Fontaine. Written by Pascal Bonitzer and Anne Fontaine, based on the graphic novel by Posy Simmonds. With Fabrice Luchini, Gemma Arterton, Jason Flemyng, Isabelle Candelier, Niels Schneider, Mel Raido, Elsa Zylberstein. Cinematography: Christophe Beaucarne. Editing by Annette Dutertre. Running time: 99 minutes. @pablsuarez