Straight from Venice, The Distinguished Citizen is a metaphor for smalltown Argentina in a comedic key
POINTS: 7
Released locally just a few days after its Venice premiere, El ciudadano ilustre (“The Distinguished Citizen”), the new film by Mariano Cohn and Gastón Duprat (The Man Next Door, The Artist), is an odd combination of dead-pan comedy and mordant satire about a Nobel Prize-winning Argentine author based in Barcelona who returns to spend three days in his small hometown of Salas, some six hours away from Buenos Aires, after a 40-year-absence as he has been named Distinguished Citizen and is to receive a medal.
But El ciudadano ilustre is not only a matter of mere comedy. It’s also a portrayal of a country, a metaphor, if you will, as seen through the prism of a small provincial town. It works quite well when it comes to the laughs and the gibberish, but then it becomes too thin and trite when it goes for ideological queries. However, it’s largely entertaining, and even with its flaws, it does pay off mainly thanks to finely calibrated performances, very well written dialogue and inspired comedic situations.
In the brilliant first scene of the film, which is divided in five chapters, you see Daniel Mantovani (Oscar Martínez, from Inseparable, Wild Tales, and Paulina, in another stellar performance filled with nuances) while he’s receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature in rather unfriendly terms. In the presence of the king and queen, he vehemently states that receiving such a prize equals his artistic death — for if the establishment feels he’s so remarkably outstanding, then his work is no longer revolutionary or groundbreaking. His worst fears have come true: he’s become a comfortable artist. Despite his fierce criticism, he accepts the prize.
Five years go by and he hasn’t written a single page. He’s now resting at his posh, modern home. Aided by his secretary (Nora Navas) he peruses many invitations and says no to all — except to the letter from the mayor of Salas, his hometown, who invites him to receive the honour of Distinguished Citizen. Perhaps out of curiosity or boredom, or who knows why, he decides to fly over to BA.
And as soon as he’s picked up at the airport by a rather dumb driver with a lousy car, you know you’re in for a comedic tour de force. Soon enough, a tyre blows up as they travel on a deserted country road. While waiting for help, it gets cold and so pages of his novels are used to light a fire — which is a fine gag. Then more pages are used as toilet paper — which is a lame gag. Fortunately, as the film unfolds, the good and very good gags are cleverly scattered with precise timing, whereas the not-so-good are just few and far between.
After a tiring car ride, they arrive in town and lots of welcoming events meant to make him feel happy and at home have been planned. Too bad that the words “happy” and “at home” don’t go well together that often.
Among the townspeople, there’s Antonio (played by the always reliable Dady Brieva), Mantovani’s best friend in high school; his wife Irene (Andrea Frigerio), who was once Mantovani’s girl friend; a young, hot and stereotyped groupie (Belén Chavanne); an aspiring writer (Julián Larquier), who works at the front desk of the hotel where Mantovani stays — which, according to the author, looks “like the set of a Romanian film.” Finally, there’s Florencio Romero (Marcelo D’Andrea), a bully who harasses Mantovani, and the town’s mayor (Manuel Vicente).
What ensues is Mantovani’s confrontation with the townspeople, who first welcome him with open arms, but upon realizing he’s not an object to be placed wherever they want, they just don’t like him that much. They are proud of him for being born in Salas, but they also despise him for writing about the miserable, pathetic people of Salas — yet Cohn and Duprat are smart enough not to let viewers find out what Mantovani actually wrote so you can never know how much of a cynic or a misanthrope Mantovani actually is. But you do know he can be pedantic, patronizing, and haughty.
Small town jealousy, craving for success, unfulfilled longings, an artist’s relationship with his oeuvre, clashes between the European literate and backwards townspeople, conformism versus evolution, chauvinism and mediocrity, and demagogues utilizing artists are arguably the main themes El ciudadano ilustre embraces lightly yet with enough ability to keep the story flowing at ease.
With such a busy agenda, it’s no wonder there may be not enough depth, some conceptual redundancy, and unnecessary plot digressions — i.e. the rekindling of the love affair between Mantovani and Irene. Or the groupie herself, who feels forced into the story in order to open up an equally forced subplot. And the two last chapters are not that organic either. Aesthetically speaking, nothing is particularly notable; on the contrary, though the overall worn down look of the town by production designer María Eugenia Suerio is a plus.
On the other hand, the hilarious art contest, the interview at the tacky TV station, the local beauty queen, the open talk, they all superbly represent an absurdly pathetic scenario with multiple shades, which proves to be very appealing for all the wrong reasons. What’s best is the carefully constructed tone that’s become a trademark for Duprat and Cohn. They make you feel uncomfortable because you are not sure whether you should laugh or feel pity, get angry or simply cry over these characters — writer included — when you think what a bunch of losers they can be, how obnoxious they can get, how needy they act, and how fragile they get. It’s just that they are so human.
So Duprat and Cohn don’t need to worry like Mantovani does. For sure, they’re far from being dead artists as their film is often uncomfortable — but in a good way. That should come as a compliment.
Production notes
El ciudadano ilustre (2016). Directed by Mariano Cohn, Gastón Duprat. Written by Andrés Duprat. With Oscar Martínez, Dady Brieva, Andrea Frigerio, Manuel Vicente, Julián Larquier, Belén Chavanne, Marcelo D’Andrea. Cinematography: Mariano Cohn, Gastón Duprat. Running time: 118 minutes.
@pablsuarez
